The Search

I went about one afternoon, to see if I could perhaps find you.

I looked high and low, with a handful of prayers clinched tight in my fist.

My wits gathered about me I began to run, the sun caught my hair and made me stop.

I ran out onto the plain, and for a moment on that bright sunny day,

it was Christmas.
I’d love to hold you underneath this water.

Love to hold you over, and fall apart in your torrential crescendo of violence.

Have then, just a little patience.

My arms are weary set, Iron-heavy, thrashing like a colossus.

But when I find you, I know you and I’ll do this dance all over again.
All the more reason to make our own justice, he says.

If there are no hooks, there will not be a ceiling.

If there’s no ceiling, then there’s no floor.

I want to be irreversibly guilty.

Make it so.

If I could stand accused before you all.

My eyes would bleed love.

The guilt is the beauty.

I’ve learned that now.
So let me be guilty, at least I’ll swallow victory in the end.

Let this wandering hour be gone from me.

You think I’m underneath this wall, stuck, waiting to be killed.
Everyone loves a sadist. At least we’ll say, we did.

Justice isn’t self evident,

it’s hidden, and everywhere it’s found it’s snuffed out.

End of line.
We’re waiting, waiting. And the maidens will dance with dainty fury.

A frantic lullaby echoed on their bleeding lips.

The beaches of Eire are burning.

Let their hearts fall, at least it’s not so bad that way.

I stand before you condemned,

the sun fades into blindness

a smile on my eager face.


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