Tuesday 29 October 2019

The Grey

Her care is my discretion
My discretion's rather poor
Those daughters of the first-born sons
With blood upon their door
Grey skies were made for passing
This kiss was made for you
Hold these rings just like a best man
What else is there to do?

I lay down with my mother
To help her better rest
Upturn the old inverted
Like keys beneath the chest
The trees all sing of Paris
And Agnes in the field
Like eyes of lambs and virgins
But she was never healed

Cast out just like an anchor
A princess bred for night
Pull the cross right through the centre
And cherish heaven's light
But I can't give her what I gave her
That would be too cruel
I live now just to save her
Hannah is no fool

Her love is my confession
My confession is my art
Spill secrets through her centre
She regains a beating heart
And I bless this sacred distance

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