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A Song of Used and Broken Things

The night is an ocean of deepest despair,
The shadows of beasts born of sorrow and fear
Lurk where the light can’t hope to disturb,
To pull at my scars and shatter my nerve,
Each mark an incursion, a piercing coersion,
A hollow reminder of stolen perversions.
Know the weight of each ruin and see why I cling,
To the ghost of lost and silent things.
 
I cry Havoc and reach for the hilt of my tongue,
To let slip the fire that burns in my lungs
And erupt in a chorus of passion and spite,
A desperate howl that will ring through the night.
I sin unto you, for the love that I knew,
For the years on my brow and the loss of my truths,
Know the reason and rhyme of the words that I sing,
The song of used and broken things.
 
Lay blame to the horrors that taught me to run,
To the winters that broke me and claimed me as son,
For the fall of each foot and those shattered beneath,
The storm of torment and endless defeat.
The shake of your bones, I claim as my own,
For fear of a rage born of fractured condone,
Know the beat of my steps and the terror they bring,
The dance of dead and violent things.
 
Feel the swell of my silence and the thunderous calm,
Of a man struck dumb by a farewell to arms,
For the skulls at my hip that would hasten to choke,
The plea of my hands and the prayer in my throat.
I yield my head, to a crown forged of lead,
That screams of my treason and words left unsaid.
Know not the binds that tie me as king,
To the throne of proud and desolate things.

(2013)

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