What Once Was Ripped Apart
Our love has been but a narrow treacherous road that only the wretched walk. cold winds have made ice of our bones and bullet rain have pelted our skin, battered our souls. we carried on hoping to reach the light at the end of the tunnel but it was two houses on fire - yours and mine and our kin, like charcoal to the flame. cast out, orphaned, our chests grew thorns what is love without embrace? why should love rip our flesh apart? To hide our pain we built citadels of pearls, gilded cages, singing birds. roses bloom in spring to hide the musk of our skin but when it wilts, and it's scent fades, we're reminded again that our musk anchors us in what we'd rather forget. Rivers from the bishop's chalice do not wash the musk of sin we may have to peel our skin to reveal the red of flesh to testify that we're what we know we're not that the heavens will open and show us streets of gold Sebastian, saint Sebastian, mercy! What was our love is now...
