Friday, 25 October 2013

Unfinished

This coldness inside, behind closed eyes
A world hidden in shadows
Frozen in time
This is the mark, on the endless line
Far beyond the reach of our sight
Beggars, we, to the Eternal Pulse
Prisoners to this vault, the Cosmos
Restricted by physics, the demands of our Sun
Of waking and sleeping, of sleeping and dreaming
Our world, an imperfect crystal, roughly hewn

At the core, a single beating heart
Ageless, yet aged
Given a face, wearied, battered with years
Compartmentalised, for the safety of understanding
A lock and chain to arrest our deepest fears

But what if the truth is a lie, our blundering
Meaningless? Do our words, our deeds, do they die
Unfinished?