Would that I had seen this fate
at four and twenty two.
Would I still have breathed the fire
that set my life in stone?
A pearl that made from grains of sand,
dark and tightly spun;
A spiral twist of tears and man,
forever all alone.
A damn poor gem if truth be told
and why would I not say
those things that came so hard to me;
high cost for empty soul.
Thirteen days and thirteen lies
had found me at my end.
I had sought to keep inside
a power I could not hold.
Tell me now o’ lonely one,
hold me to my truth.
Is this thing that you now see,
is this the dream you chose
when you had wished and you prayed
to all the gods above
for better things and sweet life;
a fairy tale of old?
I know not now who I was
or who I could have been.
Now I just walk upon this road
of dust and buried bones.
© 2013 Stephen Boothe