Still Life

On the mantelpiece
There's a scrap of leather
Like a half remembered truth
Or lie
And there's a photograph
Of a sunlit garden
And a sword that seemed to burn
With light

The way
Is closed now
And I can't go home
The way
Is closed now
And I can't go home

Near the fireplace
Black with soot and sorrow
And the absence of synecdoche
There's a whetted axe
With a weathered handle
And the weight of it 
Is dear to me

The way
Is closed now
And I can't go home
The way
Is closed now
And I can't go home

But what if I
What if I just let go?

If I just let go