Little lights on the narrow path
linked together in one place.
See your profile in the shadows cast
never turning to my face.
Shattered nothings falling fast
on a deafened ear.
Pressing flowers in an old book
catching moments that are lost.
Don’t you know that they’re dead though?
Death for beauty is the cost.
Crumpled under weighted page
in a heavy tomb.
Scattered seeds on the pathway
under swooping of the bird.
Blinded crying in the harsh sun
wishing only to be heard.
Bone broken on the hardened soil
cast upon the floor.
Weakened roots in the shallow ground
seeking purchase in the rock.
Affronted by an indifference
that kept hunger under lock.
Praying for receding tides
and pursuit of sun.
Tangled vines and the sharp thorns
clinging tightly in a web.
Blood pouring and the rust scars
joy of living in an ebb.
Bleeding until hearts run dry
before blinded eyes.
Aching cries in the black sky
only echoes here reply.
Screaming inward from an awful place
where any hope can only die.
Salvation is a lonely writ
in an oblique place.
Little lights on the narrow path
linked together in one place.
See your profile in the shadows cast
never turning turn my face.
Salvation is a lonely writ
in an oblique place.
Salvation is a lonely writ
in an oblique place.
