Can you hear, the distant tear, that falls like rain from yesteryear?
Or can it be that you can't see, the forest for the single tree?
Who can you call, to break the fall, when no one hears behind your wall?
Down the well, you slipped and fell, burning in your private hell,
and there you are, the falling star, earning yet another scar.
No key, no lock, no time, no clock, faces turned within the flock,
you're alone and bare with no one to care,as hate burns through from angry
How could you know, which way to go, without someone to tell you so?
Your plea is sent, your soul's been rent, not knowing what the answers meant.
You long to rest, but at your best, you heal some wounds with sins confessed,
you staunch the blood, control the flood, buried to your neck in mud,
you shout, you cry, for a glimpse of sky, to keep that distant teardrop dry.
And if you knew, just what to do, would you then please help me too?
Copyright © Curt Mongold | Year Posted 2008
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