Frailties of Men

time whispers. in shallow cuts. life stirs beneath the oldest scars. love scrapes its stories into the flesh. but blood is all that it wants. 

we live in half written songs. we touch through broken glass. 

we were never lovers. only thieves. 

 we revel in our glorious cages. prisoners terrified of escape. 

life bellows. a weary hunter. ready to devour on its final kill. 

we can worship the words. the beauty of theory. but the math remains unmoved. 

we poke the flames. hoping its heat will be enough.

still the cold persists..