The Dying Light
Listen to these words I came this far to say,
I am always a bitter breeze of forgotten things,
A mystery in the wake of silence.
A talent of jaded memories to be replaced by something simple.
I am distant in the rise of dawn,
A player in a wondrous game of fields and forests
I am quick to run,
A stream of calm waters flowing throughout the ways.
A theme of trying justice without the will to impart
A quarter of rigid ground to hard to bare anything
Too wide to know why.
Too simple to care.
Thus remaining a bitter breeze of forgotten things
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