Thomas

What is this madness? Women’s gossip wild,
Swirling in the gutters of our heartache,
He is dead. Let him rest in peace, the child,
Picking up the pieces of his sweet mistake.
He would not learn the world’s ways, would not fight
With its weapons, he could not save himself
Who wished to save the world, I know right
He could not save it. I saved myself.
Of course you saw him, grief distorts the eyes,
The waking nightmare built upon our guilt,
Gives false consolation, I feel those lies,
But not the wounded body’s spear-hole’s tilt.
And who might you be? Ah, now I believe,
My Lord and God! How could my heart deceive?

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