We've got it all wrong:
These words aren't meant to please!
Nor flowers meant to smell
Or tears, even to brush
This sight should aggrieve your soul!
Thoughts of a kin spilling for you
Just forcing yourself to be known
But where is the spirit amongst your pain?
The ache is in your feet, running away
Tracing the path of another whim
And kissing the earth; sweetening the sin
Your palms aren't black enough
For this life with which you reside
Has showed us all how to be foolish
To ourselves, nay
But if anyone should watch
Beyond our forgotten horizon
I guess His presence to be unknown
His words, an inaudible whisper
His breath, the rose in your drawer
His hands, cupping your tears
His eyes, peering out from your soul
His taste, in the stock which you feed
And he in your mind
Will shell out the life you made
Replacing within
The stars, for you, he paid.
