(no subject)
60. Gaze Into My Maze (September 27,2004)
Fields of sorrow, rows of grief
the ground which we walk upon
always lets us creep
transition from infinity
but left to each his own.
I once walked before you
but never dreamt alone.
For life is but a moment
written poem by poem.
Maybe someday time will tell,
explain what makes us wonder.
Above our heads, the souls expel,
become a dusty clunder.
I wrote in colour only once
with shades of fine line.
Minds replay the moments.
Each frame like a canvas,
washed over with time.
For living isn't being.
Life never had a name.
my eyes can see it now
feel the patterns of rain
The hole is an opening,
to the world I have made.
Fields of sorrow, rows of grief
the ground which we walk upon
always lets us creep
transition from infinity
but left to each his own.
I once walked before you
but never dreamt alone.
For life is but a moment
written poem by poem.
Maybe someday time will tell,
explain what makes us wonder.
Above our heads, the souls expel,
become a dusty clunder.
I wrote in colour only once
with shades of fine line.
Minds replay the moments.
Each frame like a canvas,
washed over with time.
For living isn't being.
Life never had a name.
my eyes can see it now
feel the patterns of rain
The hole is an opening,
to the world I have made.