Ten

You will not find much. I have so little, so few,

But I have left for you ivies. 

I hope they still bind. Trembling fingers,

I know. They clutch at your pauper soul 
Like cages made out of paper. 

You will need a second pair of ears 
Because the structure is in the sound.

I know you have kept your palms arable, 

And you grow vulnerabilities like berries

And causes like the reasonable god 

That you hope to die for. But not tonight,
You will remain blind for me.

In the blare of darkness, you will only crack 
Your knuckles white like coal.

Dale Chou
2012-06-16