“Lost to the memory”

I lost my turn to the order.
I lost my wife to the line.
I lost my will to the compass.
I lost my faith to the crime.

I lost my silent virtue.
I lost my loud device.
I lost myself to the soldiers—
who did not ask if I would mind.

There is a ceremony in everybody’s mind,
in the scent of birthday candles —
being blown out for miles;
But if you ask me for a favor,
you know I will have to decline.
I do not have patience for an industry
that drinks down all my wine.

I lost my turn to the order.
I lost my wife to the line.
I lost my will to the compass.
I lost my faith to the crime.

I lost my senses to the moment.
I lost my memories to the child.
I lost most everyone worth loving—
but they still give me their smiles.

There is a trace of pride
in everybody’s trust.
I once had a romance—
but it has since turned to rust.
So every night I sand that off—
and paint a fresh coat of lust!
There are a thousand naked virgins—
waiting for my blood!
But I lost my blood to the iron cross—
when I gave my life to your God.

narrative poem written on 04-16-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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