| So many miles away nowyet still I contemplate | | | | see now. |
| the loss. | | | | I chase after moons that rest. |
| Sometimes living in regret is usefuland softens | | | | Youcoming out somewhereleaning |
| future assessments. | | | | somewheresomewhere from the grave. |
| I try to hear the voices in-between. | | | | I hear you...try to hear me as well |
| Bright eyesthey do not decide my flightmy | | | | Yes, I try. |
| intended journey. | | | | And yet... |
| I comb the colors of your claimsdecipher their | | | | I grieve all the daybecause your presencechose |
| usespress on regardless. | | | | to meet me. |
| I pruned the rosesbecause I heard them | | | | Quiet roar. |
| breathing. | | | | I neglected to pave the way. |
| I set their alarmgolden rules developed over time. | | | | Who knew I would ever regretbow my |
| I looked out the windownoticed all the | | | | headabout the struggles outcome? |
| consequencesthey lined the driveway. | | | | I pass the daydoing best I can. |
| I tried to focus on their dancerather than their | | | | I try to give honorto stolen baby roses. |
| intension. | | | | I should grow them here now. |
| They lean sometimes too farpull me apart in | | | | Find their little souls. |
| crowded roomsof malcontents. | | | | I would have gathered themlong agosaved their |
| No matter how many layersof well beingthey | | | | voices for my pleasure. |
| often lie. | | | | Too late? |
| I always hear them whisperafter laughing. | | | | So many miles away now. |
| Such nerve. | | | | I stood on the beachand thought I heard you |
| I pack up my paintsjoin the brigadethat only I can | | | | breathing. |