there was no redemption in that voice
like the like the ringing of the train clank
on a particularly cold day

singing our song at midnight
remembering the pitch,
the pitch remembering me
striking chords
in the air, cold for early march.

they look on you as a stained believer
and i am glad they seem to
just accept the imperfection
walking among them

i was born to pick the petals
off of you, at midnight

there was no redemption in that voice
ringing between empty cliffs
no repentance, no forgiveness

01/01/2002

Posted on 03/07/2010
Copyright © 2025 Kim Thevenot