QUILLS WE FASHION,
TALES WE TELL,
AND IN BETWEEN
VANITY FELL
Vain
TALES WE TELL,
AND IN BETWEEN
VANITY FELL
Vain
Vane
Vein
As are all words
Is History Vain;
Fluttering Fortune's
Weather Vane,
Drawing heart's blood
From a pierced Vein.
A Vein of pain,
Quarried by the quill
Of greedy gossips,
Eager to tell
Tell-tales,
Tall-tales.
But at some point
All History fails
And here it where it falls:
Between the place
The World ends
And the human heart
Pretends?
There!
In that space
History falters,
History fails.
Great or small
Right or wrong
The end of it
Is that we all long
For that small hour
One hand to hold
One, just one,
So we do not die
Alone.
MC
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