You tore a hole through
The threads of our time
The patchwork red and harrowing
Purples deep as the bruise
A pattern of black cuts through
The fabric; it is thick and cruel as
Your thoughts. No warmth for
Suffering soul, no quilt for
The quivering. You were an
Empty case adorned with praise
Because your tongue spoke no kindness
Your heart gave no grace
I grew new eyes but
You grew no ears
What to say of you?
A demon of light? An
Angel of hell
How must I think of you?
My brother, my foe
How can a tree watered with truth
Bear no truth, unless inside the
Twisted knots lies a
Tired, scared thing
But you didn’t have to hurt me
You didn’t have to kill me too
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