typically, i hate to rhyme...

everything is barren
on the ragged edge of loss,
life is a wave,
which swallows, like a cave,
those things not prone to toss.
everything is missing
in between the things i find,
hollow spaces,
lovers without faces,
ghosts inside my mind.

everything is hopefull
for six minutes at a time,
i fell alive,
for minutes one through five,
omnipotence sublime.
everything is shattered
at the end of minute six,
all i'd found
in pieces on the ground
that even God can't fix.

everything is sorrow
as i recognize the end,
all the dreams
that slipped out through the seams
too broken now to spend.
everything is mourning
for each silent, unmarked grave.
how can i still
reach out for things that will
grow cold before they save?

everything is stagnant
as i wait for something true.
i will not take
one more convincing fake
no matter what i do.
everything is tranquil
when i find that i'm the flaw.
all that i'd gained
was pure until i maimed
it's beauty with my claw.

everything is empty
in this final aching choice,
peace and rest,
these dreams, my last, my best,
the silence of my voice.
everything is over
with one weary, tattered prayer,
Domine,
requiem, donna me.
i hope the answer's there.

everything is nothing
where the finish meets the start,
the cycle whole,
predestinated soul,
emancipated heart.
everything is finished
save one last unspoken plea,
that the God
who once loved something flawed
might still have room for me.