Trance (Journey’s End)

The circle closes more and more,
tighter and tighter.
To breathe is to have luxury
one more day,
one more day.

I don’t hate you,
I hate what you reflect of me
in such quiet
that I can hear my breath
both serene and scary.

It is not those without sin
who cast stones,
but those harboring sin,
denying sin, devouring sin,
who are publicly appalled

as light speed restrains love’s reach,
keeping God from attending
every church service held
one more day,
one more day.

I wish it was in my nature
to take advantage of people.
Life would be so much easier,
but things must be difficult
for liars to themselves.

I cannot tell a soul
of the way out.
I can only endure
one more day,
one more day.

If light is a fusion
of many pretty colors,
then what is dark
through a prism
if not more pretty dark?

Together, we hang my head
under the weight of nothing,
for to lose nothing
would be something,
something of a loss.

One more day
the circle closes
limits on love’s reach,
I cannot tell a soul
one more day.
I’m not sure the prettier
of light or dark,
only that each rejects me
one more day.
One more day.

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