I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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Love Take Me

Love, take my voice I cannot speak your words.

Their congregation worships at the foot

Not of your shrine but my own altered use.

These tricks once turned, a man cannot escape

His premonition of such scenic truth

Through which a mercenary poison flows.

The pooling light that settles from the wound

Has flooded through my senses and defamed

The earnest words that sanctify the breath

Of one with no reflection save their death.


Love, take my eyes I cannot see the moon,

Its face has faded dawnward from the sky.

Yet somewhere on this continent of loss

In places dedicated to our pain,

I heard the weeping bride, as yet unwept;

I saw my end, the tragedy that quelled

The broken beast, when confidence was swelled

By acts untouched by self or stained by truth;

I found the prescient wing, when weak from flight,

Was worthless to the independent thought.