It is not you I have failed
But the minutes that have prevailed;
Cut into the deep wounds, red,
Scars opening again, shall soon go to bed.
It is nighttime wrapped inside,
As a cocoon does fully provide;
My heart cannot take much more,
Lean left and stare wide at the open door.
That is certainty hugging the ceiling,
Had I not looked up, the walls revealing:
The eyes and nose and mouth protruding.
Imitations not bothered by frequent excluding.
By the supreme law and controlled thoughts,
Bound together to those who fiercely fought;
It is not I seamlessly visible as I wait
But an unfurling of you at the closed gate.
It is not with disappointment we travel and pass by,
Because what is heard will be a broken lullaby;
It is not I sleeping right below,
And one more minute until the overthrow.