For Every Love That's Born There Is A Cry Poem by Mark Heathcote

For every birth, there is a cry
For every dream, there is a wave
That recedes on a worn-out lie

For every figurative metaphor
There is a simile of you on my mind
For every rueful discrepancy

There is a sordid singing in the sky
Oh just to fly a little higher, higher
Then an unanswered question - asking why.

Oh, I'll never learn my lesson
You'll just have to embalm my will
In your falling gravity and embrace me again

Until I'm also bound in these covers of war and peace
With a broken spine ripped at the seams
Hell I'm going to dream, I'm not going to cry

Till even these ephemeral wings can't fly
I'm going to sink and swim
In every cloud on every seraphim-wave until I die

For every figurative metaphor
There isn't a simile for you in a funfair mirror
For every rueful discrepancy, there is an image

That I just want to drown in without you
Under every wave, for-however-long time goes on
I just want to bob-on the waves with you

…On and on, on and on and on...

Because for every love that's born there is a cry
For every dream, there is a wave
That recedes on a worn-out lie.