Words, Words, Words
Creation is that empty soul
Which, lost, still leaves a hollow whole
So soothing, still, the empty cry
Regret and loss belie
A blissful immortality
Unknown to what could be
A nascent moss
This crescent cost
I lost the soul in me
The past, the past, the memory
Cut off inside of me
I want to be the hollow tears
That crystallize, fall from your eyes
And shatter to the sea
I want to know the frosted night
To purge this one regret
To feel and be
I am
As I always
Have been
Words,
Words,
Words.
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