Staring beyond the depths of the cup in my hands Into a past I long to know The view from atop the boneyard pile Is a steep descent into rolling madness.
Boneyard
Out of Reach
Time walked a straight path from the morning On a collision course with rapture Then all melted in a haze of something like color, but more A distant scream was a song on the breeze
The Wrong Words
It was her hand reaching out to me Cold fingers grasping at a final trace of hope Like breath lingering upon a still morning That broke apart the wall, brick by brick
