The Cycle

The dark moves on a quiet night.
Every shadow holds a candle, bright.
Across the sea to horizon's light
that's damned to find you.

Upon the waves the sun does dance.
Between the shine hides a final chance.
Until they're thrown upon the wicked sands,
I'll be praying for you.

The sky could split in a starlight dance,
with gates to heaven opened in these hands.
Yet the call of stones holds that bitter chance
to part me from you.

And in the cold of a tired trance,
a call of yours tries what I once had.
Forever strung upon an olive branch;
grown with patience for you.