Insight
If you could know what I know,
the depth and breadth of what is past,
the feelings in the dungeon heart,
then you would know the honesty
of that which I impart.
If you could feel what I feel,
the cut and thrust of steely scorn,
the sabre that lays bare the shell,
then you would know the agony
of seasons spent in Hell.
If you could dream what I dream,
the better days that never were,
the tainting of each crystal dawn,
then you would know the destiny
of that which dies unborn.
If you could breathe what I breathe,
the bitter chaff of tin foil dust,
the veto of the telling air,
then you would know the gravity
of love in disrepair.
If you could see what I see,
the way that you are cut to size,
deceived by fractions bit by bit,
then you would see the death of me,
of whom and why I care...
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