Of Armistice

Every lettter is a human tale -
riots on paper, words in the way.
Whatever one had really been in need of saying,
it was never meant to rest in decay.
A truth, so heavy, it may outweigh this life
and change every man that lays sight on its lines.
A message that was meant to be a vital sign,
written in hours of armistice.
Of armistice between me
and this plain of solid white,
when my pen was torn from slumber,
and I found the courage to write.
To write, to make up for failures.
To force a decade into a single page.
To hope for chance to guide my lines,
to a destination coming-of-age.
Now I fear these thoughts, as the mountains grow,
to be lost under landslides of envelopes.
One last chance sent so far off course
as the final stage of my remorse.
Have I lost you in the chaos of these times?
On their way my letters died.
No time to wait for semaphores to show.
I should have found you long ago.
Maybe these letters just needed to be sent,
but never to arrive.
Have I lost you in the chaos of these times?
Armistice between me
and this plain of solid white,
when I learnt to bring my good intentions
safely through the night.
Maybe words we know are not enough anymore
to name all of the things that I adore.