Summer Song

 

Summer broken by these smoky trails of rain,
The only flowers left, those we cannot claim,
Gathered in cruel circles on the window ledge,
Stranded by the words we longed to hold but could not pledge;

Through this crooked frame, I watch uncertain skies,
At the feet of the vacant trees, history solidifies,
The wind from the north blows through the thorns,
Whose side, whose side, whose side were we on?

Still I hear your voice, trembling in the seams,
Though it turned this way, weren’t for the weakness of our dreams,
Brave as the sun, we burned them, on the grieving docks,
Not seeing we were spoken for by the voiceless clocks.

On silver, tripping footsteps, we chased the melting dawn,
Watched from the crumbling towers from the kingdoms that we’d drawn,
Held up our glass, to catch the lightning flash,
Reached out for the kiss collapsing through the falling ash;

But the hour turned upon us, a traitor in the ring,
We looked on like children, wounded in the wings,
With every unsuspected blow, the fences grew weak,
Was it for this, for this, we were taught to speak?

Still I hear your voice, trembling in the seams,
Though it turned this way, weren’t for the weakness of our dreams,
Brave as the sun, we burned them, on the grieving docks,
Not seeing we were spoken for by the voiceless clocks.

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