When no one hears you
It is there
Huddled within the sands
Of a flare
Once a tithe
Far from a mare
Suddenly now
A toll to bear
The bode is ill
A speckled still
And vows don't last
Of weathered hills
As climb one shall
And may again
On a vantage
Doomed to be in vain
The wish was made
On pebbled band
To let a star
So I be them
Yet what worth is paint
Without the art
If death is the beginning
Then love is the start
A brute for war
A savage fill
The counting clock
Of run and thrill
The grasp is wrong
The knife's nil
The flower blooms
For roots will
