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Peter Critchley

The Desperate Ones




They hold hands

And walk in silence

In those faded towns

which are rocked by drizzle

Making no sound but their footsteps

Step by muted step

They walk in silence

The Hopeless

They have burned their wings

They have lost their branches

So shipwrecked

That death seems indifferent

They’re done with love

They have woken up

They walk in silence

The hopeless

And I know their road

From having walked it

More than a hundred times already

A hundred times more than halfway

Less old or more bruised

They’re going to reach its end

And leave in silence

The hopeless

And underneath the bridge

The water is soft and deep

Here is the good hostess

Here is the end of the world

They weep their names

Like newlyweds

They melt away into silence

The hopeless

Let the one stand up

Who throws the stone at them

They don't know of love

The verb "to love oneself"

On the bridge there is nothing left

But a light mist

They are forgotten in silence

The ones who once hoped

They walk without a sound, down forgotten streets. And I know the road they’re on, I have walked it a hundred times or more. They cry to us for help, they cry without a sound. Let the one stand up, who throws the stone at them; he knows the verb to love, but he’ll never know how to love.

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