He prowls by the riverside
that goes carrying on his country
somehow he still counts himself a believer
Staring into the night, black as can be.
Uneasily, he grabs a seat at the bar
waiting for her eyes to reappear
feeling a distant, blinking star
lonely mornings’ foggy veneer.
How innocence and adolescence vanishes
the sternness of the pallbearers’ steps
a future this moment so readily banishes
a home that still needs to be kept.
Truth locked away in rhymed language
sprinkled like perfume before a dinner party
each word slowly building a bridge
footsteps pacing every closer to the edge.
A shooting star on the tabloid page
soon to transformed into a frozen tear
the darkness hides pressed, drying flowers
all tallied up a just another of love’s martyrs.
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