Fall

And from the cliff, so very tall,

I dreamed we took a nasty fall.

How many the years?

Is there any way but down?

Will it hurt, to hit bottom?

And will this burning never cease,

or is there truly no release?

And since we’ve sworn off knife and rope,

we plunge and fall on without hope.

Have we somehow deserved this?

Were we really so cruel?

Was our birth a damning crime?

And if this all is only dreaming,

a shaded phantom, though real seeming,

what sleeper in us will not wake,

what stubborn center will not break?

To plunge through nightmare depths so far,

suspecting never what we are…

Why eat when you will only hunger?

Why drink to thirst again?

Why wash what will not be clean?

I’d like to think that loving you

would make this fall to something new,

would find in nightmare cause for singing,

would still the bells my mind keeps ringing.

But all at most that love can do

is turn the pain to something new;

and is that truly hope enough

to make our fall a bit less rough?

And will there be a future time?

Are we the last of our kind?

Can we bear to pass this on?

I wish…

I hope…

If only…

Please…

Why?

Why?

And have we died already?

Do ghosts write for ghosts?

Will we ever win our bodies back?

I only wanted to tell you…