"We're Still Building, Then Burning Down Love"

Monuments of My Disbelief


Zealots find uneasy sleep
(Always looking to the sky)
Yearning for a deeper keep
(Believing they'll finally fly)
Xenophobia begins
(Constantly questioning why)
Whistling suddenly ends
(Dry lips are too cracked to try)
Variations in movement
(Exercises in patience)
Unwilling delusions spent
(Feinting and fainting at hints)
Tapping our feet on the floor
(Glancing in panic for mints)
Stilling the nerves from before
(Holding our breath too intense)
Raiding our psyche for more . . .
(Incense and burning our prayers)
Quiet, comes the opening door
(Jumping and putting on airs)
Penance is marching to war
(Keeping my heart in my chest)
Oh, all the things I've ignored!
(Living each gasp from my breast)
Nobody spoke of the still
(Maybe . . . who am I kidding)
Maybe there's grace for the ill
(Never been much for bidding . . .)
Life for the pantomimed man
(On dreams or dreaming before)
Kangaroo pulses, I stand
(Posited 'bout distant shores)
Jerking my face from my feet
(Quibbled about petty scores)
I wonder where abstracts meet
(Ransacked belief at the door)
Hoping God hears my entreat
(Separate monologues meet)
Gathering strength for retreat
(Two steps till checkmate, I'm beat)
Fighting the urge to throw up
(Unsure if I've said enough)
Every second screaming
(Veering, crashing, careening)
Dry eyes dampened, now streaming
(Wish I'd been more than seeming)
Cracked lips undertake treason
(Xylophones pound in my head)
Before hope rallies reason . . .
(Yellow erects it's new bed)
And I refuse to fear death
(Zealously choosing each breath).