We hope to god that <br />in this delicate romance <br />of those of us <br />without pockets in our pants, <br />blinding charms <br />will cover <br />bloody palms <br />where they hover. <br /> <br />why did Jesus cry <br />when he knew he wasn't going to die <br />Life's long arm had lost another lover. <br /> <br />Will the Winter strewn along <br />Concrete guilded skies <br />Sing a sad soul his own song <br />by cementing his very lies? <br /> <br />They stagger past their neighbour <br />in searh of early favours <br />as their time becomes a labour <br />that pure addiction savours. <br /> <br />Life's strong arm won't lose it's only lover. <br /> <br />While some American mountains, <br />Bottled and displayed, <br />Burst like erupting fountains <br />for my interest paid, <br /> <br />Headhunters mildly spear <br />their victims in the shade, <br />driving the south with fear <br />in the 'greatest game ever played'. <br /> <br />'...It looks like Life has lost its distance I'm afraid...' <br /> <br />And then the day <br />this heart extracts <br />itself away <br />from these contacts <br />they'll rise and say <br />that failing's based on facts <br /> <br />They'll honestly rise and say <br />that failing's based on facts. <br /> <br />And that one cent <br />of rotting change <br />remaining unspent <br />yet out of range <br />seems to merely be <br />our selfish sides so strange <br /> <br />It's often judged to be <br />our selfish sides so strange. <br /> <br />Life's buckling arms will never caress another.<br /><br />Aven Black<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-random-reconstruction-of-the-mindswept/
