I COME TO REST
The past is bedlam, as limbs on a tree
It twists and snags and holds onto me
A margin of grief has scratched through my wing
And gravity pulls with a much thicker string
These memories are bound as a tight fitting ring
And the light it reflects
Brings a watery sting
The pleasures it holds are the pains unto thee
The past is bedlam
That holds onto me
The unsettled shadow that feeds the forgone
Sheds darker the sorrow in the heed of dawn
More grave is the ache that chops at this strand
For freedom dwells in the clench of my hand
By choice I live with this thorn in my side
The cure I have known
Yet always denied
Slacken thyself; to my fingers I plea
The past is bedlam
That holds onto me
The wind is like glass that whispers its roar
It cuts through the pain that haunts my core
It speaks in nine words
Nine words in its roar
Softly, I repeat
Til I end this war
Love not the past less; But the future more
Love not the past less
But the future more
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