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