There Is A Poison.... Poem by Eric Cockrell

perhaps there is a poison,
in that which we love most.
be it the hands grasping,
or the memories that cling...
while stardust falls silently,
like dandruff from burnt eyelids.
and the god of our childhood,
packs up and leaves.
is it easier to burn the body,
or stick your fist through the glass?
while the child that you love,
rides away on a donkey....
as we're playing cards with the devil,
betting photographs and hearts.
people stand in line for this,
those with money and unconscious.
and lovers lose their voices,
somewhere in the shout of silence.
i pray for all the children,
who lie hungry in my thoughts.
sometimes poetry sucks you say,
well so do wars and homeless people.
and most of all anything,
that lets us lie to ourselves!