What were once winged words
Floating through the breeze likeRampaging pinions
Shot down in turns
By angels
Can a truth remain itself
In the face of the all
Or will it to be twisted and gnarled
Neath the oaken barricade
One never could say
On this pathway all we hold dear
Could swell and pop into the ether
Leaving one holding the bag
Empty and wishing for a compass
That lies not within
A beacon is a beacon
But where does it shine
And what will one find
At the edge of it's light
But more questions
A loop, a wheel
A stunning carousel
Trampling at a frenetic pace
As we wish to bare all
But remain silent
No comments:
Post a Comment