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The days are untied at the sound of a word, |
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Seconds coil, leave merely a trace, |
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Rust covered leaves blister and turn, |
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Unravel out, a home to replace. |
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Your warm soft eyes feel how I fade in the light, |
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Is the bitter spring only a mark of what remains? |
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The firm bright lines blurred after all of this time, |
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Is it my weathered bearing that pours through the grain? |
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Spread all out thoughts to places we knew, |
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And left behind shallow regrets, |
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Voice wearing thin, lips colored blue, |
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A beggar's plea, the years to forgive. |
