If your answers solved
What mystery remains between lives,
Where would our trial be held?
Where would we lay down our tools
Dear for this unquenched need
To work until our knees are sore
And our feet curl up at the seams
Of our understanding, our dreams,
For they would rust
Lost in a gaze of submission
Caught by the hand that pierces all hearts.
I would be lost
For I compete with a memory
Complete and detail oriented.
I ask not for your question,
I speak not for your silence
I read not for your passage
I hold not for your gift
I growl for your soul
That bites off what it believes it can chew
I snarl for your essence
That rips apart belief structure
And I cry at the foot of all you have become
For I know not how to unbecome
What I had never waited to be.