Here is the one that always tears me up:



The world is too close in us

Late and early

Caressing and dying we lay waste our powers

Little we see the grief that is ours

We have given our love away,

A bleeding death.

This demise that lays vulnerable to the lies

This hound that wails into the night,

And, is collected now, like bleeding flowers,

For this, for everything, we are discomforted,

It does not touch us,

But, still, we ask,

"How could you do this to me?"

I'd rather be a child, wrapped in a torn shirt

So that I, running on this broken land,

Could have glimpses to make me less forlorn

And, see myself rising from the sea

And hear the Gods blare comfort from a horn