Tuesday, May 25, 2010


What I really want, old friend
Is to give you up
But my feet won't obey
They've gone off like rogues
To stalk the empty lanes
Of memory's twisted city

And thinking now, that the light of a star
Is the evidence of it's demise, I understand
For at their beauty, we've gazed and wondered
And steered our ships for home
Navigating by ghosts
Because death is reliable

And lovers are not
Just ask Romeo, if he will speak of it
How the centuries describe
Our blind devotion
To false endings, twists of fate
And the inevitability of stars

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