When we become past our prime,
features lost, wrinkles make paper lines,
will my heart be in your hand, my memories,
the number of beads on your necklace,
that extends down to your hand.
For all I know I'm lost and gone,
no news rolls to my feet, and competition
is larger than the trees that I run by,
help understand the hardships coming up,
and let me off the rope that has been tied to by
the mind games I play everyday.
Now come again, say the words that speak on paper
and the news page, cut out letters and paste then on
my shirt, and let it be seen by everyone that you
have killed my spirit for just so long,
but break down and make another poem of how
shyness has held the hurt, how courage sat under
all those trees you sprinted by just to get to safety
where in arms is what you needed all along.
One more time silently explode of things you've thought,
and nothing you can do till the angel comes down with
dreams of peace, of things that have come to me all
along, and decipher the message before you try,
took me years but I now know why, don't let them go
keep letting them control your life, for once again your
back again to the time where you are born again in light,
full of hope and descend, to the moment where soon shall
you let down your head and hold your hands high, the
place of corruption has died, and your life won't be narrated anymore
for places of favor have been offered, and the story will
be told by a person, who is stopped in tracks made of the
same cold, you have been shouldered by their self, ask them
and release anger of old.
