Hush

For every gain is a loss.

I’ll braid my hair if you build the cross.

We can immolate ourselves in a sage bush,

and dream of days when devotion was not lost.

Come with me to another shore...

See a lake of stars,

though upon a closer look,

they are nothing but the eyes of a love

long considered lost.

I have been his house but you were once his home.

He caught me in the seance room,

and this is what I’m sworn to do:

Heal your grief by reminding you

that for every loss there is a gain:

There is no harvest without labor pains.

For every gain there is a loss.

I’ve braided my hair and borne the cross.

Now, lay me on my bed of brush.

Cover me in fragrant oils and

dried laurel leaves.

Light me where I am displayed.

I’d never keep you to your promise.

Let the fire rush, and he’ll speak no more;

I’ll be a mouthpiece to the dead no longer.