Recycled Poetry
There's nothin' left--not in this hollow, hollow
Heart of mine
She said the timing was all wrong--it's not
My fault, but
I touched the steps of Paradise and then
I tumbled, tumbled down.
Now my heart weighs me
Down, down--I cannot stand
I am looking at a statue of myself, but the
Reflection's not the same.
Has that old stone been weathered?
(Or has my soul been stained?)
A hole's been drilled out its breast
(Where its heart should be.)
Is it a truer image than my
Mirror dares show me?
Love could make me laugh
Back when my wings were shattered
But then they were restored to me
Only to be torn from me
And cause my spiral downward, battered.
I could crawl under the floorboards (and there
Live the rest of my days)
The steps that thundered over me
Would be a fitting respite from the maze
That is what feeling is left in me.
There's nothin' left--not in this hollow, hollow
Heart of mine
She said the timing was all wrong--it's not
My fault, but
I touched the steps of Paradise and then
I tumbled, tumbled down.
Now my heart weighs me
Down, down--I cannot stand
I am looking at a statue of myself, but the
Reflection's not the same.
Has that old stone been weathered?
(Or has my soul been stained?)
A hole's been drilled out its breast
(Where its heart should be.)
Is it a truer image than my
Mirror dares show me?
Love could make me laugh
Back when my wings were shattered
But then they were restored to me
Only to be torn from me
And cause my spiral downward, battered.
I could crawl under the floorboards (and there
Live the rest of my days)
The steps that thundered over me
Would be a fitting respite from the maze
That is what feeling is left in me.