Strange Angels beckon with deception
and they don't mean me any harm,
but they don't mean me any good either.

They speak of a tree where hearts grow
from the branches, pulsing and red, but
none of them have ever seen harvest time.

I think perhaps it is a place where those
that wander with an empty cavity in their
chest can finally gain the means to cry.

The trouble with the tearless, however, is they typically do
not have the impetus to seek out such things and I'm sure
most end up on the ground, dark and rotting, full of worms.

They imagine the feeling of finally satiating their
hunger, as the salt slides down parched throats and
the void begins to fill after all the years of wondering.

I'm pretty sure this year they'll just end up rotting
on the ground again, though, I can't possibly be
the first one to have pointed this out to them.

-- 8/22/03