We live by bones
They hold us here
Our strange thoughts
Sleep; like wolves
Our fears the chains
Of a silver throne.
The weakest prey
On an absent god
Whose cries rouse
Hope; in silent hearts
Through silent lips
To bones we pray.
Hold us, mother
Let rest the dreams
Of hallowed halls
Departed; lay here
Sweet golden night
Beside our lover.
The words of lore
Lost much in time
The legends all but
Buried; hold still then
Quickly beating heart
That knows but war.
Our angels lost
On distant hills
The graves a marker
Still; bells ring joy
Ring love, our love
But six feet the cost.
Tired, hold up
A flag like weary
Men with voices like
Frayed red ends;
We are done with you now
Gather you close
Cast you aside
We bury ourselves
Not our bones.
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That was an excellent poem, although I am sad to say that my level of intelligence is not high enough to understand the meaning of it. Forgive me for sounding like a complete idiot, but is your poem about the bad side effects of love?
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