12/20/06
Winter dawns but its days are warm,
A listless mood its passing's formed,
Over which a blanket's been laid,
Allowing God in hearts to fade.
Here rests the fault of humankind.
A golden-orange glow here emits,
Burning low by finger tips,
Confined within a door-shut car,
Searing closed these opened scars.
Here rests the fault of counting time.
Meaning is lost without a map,
And patience is running its final lap,
Redundance wreaks the daily stride,
As behind this glass the problems hide,
My words on paper and spirals flood,
The thoughts and meanings are in my blood,
They play out, my life is my word,
Singing a song that can now be heard.
A listless mood its passing's formed,
Over which a blanket's been laid,
Allowing God in hearts to fade.
Here rests the fault of humankind.
A golden-orange glow here emits,
Burning low by finger tips,
Confined within a door-shut car,
Searing closed these opened scars.
Here rests the fault of counting time.
Meaning is lost without a map,
And patience is running its final lap,
Redundance wreaks the daily stride,
As behind this glass the problems hide,
My words on paper and spirals flood,
The thoughts and meanings are in my blood,
They play out, my life is my word,
Singing a song that can now be heard.