There is truth between the lines
And the cracks in the walls
That murmur sweet nothings
There is murder in the street
Of honesty where elegance
Is at it's best, serenity
Bewildered and masochism
Refrained momentarily.
4 years have past
where a broken leg
a grandmother
and a stolen horse
all died mercilessly
And here we sit outside, crying.
Weeping in the sound of hollow words
Blaspheming terrors and sudden shoulders.
Here I sit, your only reliance
A doctored poem
A raw key
A very pressing moment
Here I sit, crying your relief
Lying your disappearance
Shouldering your fears
Here I sit, a fruit to be remembered
Or extradited fool
I will not complain but you
Will answer
All that needs to be answered.
Matthew Campbell 18-06-2003
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