Chordless

Reader, understand the pain of this chord,
If you can but listen, hold, distill and record,
You would have shackled, seen and fully assured,
The dryness of a pen that bleeds much like a singing sword.

Reader, do you not see how small a tear?
Yet there is none more precious... utterly none more dear,
Brought forth into the face and name of what we fear,
Soon you will sacrifice... your very masked frontier.

Yet, I wonder, reader, do you cry?
Do you wake up... then ask yourself why?
Stand before yourself... and look into your eye?
I wonder what you tell yourself... and how big a lie.

Reader, do not hate these words, we are all the same,
There is no hate here, no jealousy, no explosive shame,
But who do you push... who do you fight... who do you blame?
When the beauty of rain kills the beauty of a dancing flame.

Farewell, reader, for it is much too late,
My pen has dried up and is as cold as fate,
Return once more, for I will be here and I shall await,
To hear the chordless sounds of our endless debate.