Ian Petch Poet Lyric

The Slipping Sun

I can feel it coming
The slipping hour
When hope means nothing
And what I have grows sour

What’s ahead is a story
The past is a dream
I’m writing on through the memories
As pages filter into a screen

I can feel it rising
The eclipsing hour
When what I am is decided
And I fight to know what’s ours

What’s ahead is a story
I can hold it close
Like riding a raindrop
Like being a part of all that has grown

I can see it rising
The slipping sun
My fight has lost it’s purpose
And everything is gone

 I can see it coming
The cryptic hour
I will start a new page
And it will be devoured

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