We cast demons into feral pigs
While the madness is within us.
Deaf to its calling,
Knowing silence more than love.
I have counted and collected
Tears enough for every brook;
Babbling persistent like drunken Jesuits.
It is not easy to be sentimental with
Something so deep and secret
Just wishing to turn to stone.
We cut threads and wait for the fray.
People get broken;
The things I hide in you are vulnerable
In the harshness of dawn.
Blind light cutting right through to flaws.
Eyes covered, weight unbelievable.
The least of us have built castles
With walls and doors impenetrable
Hoping to keep ourselves out.
- The Guardian