(written 2007)
A weary outcast looks for rest from the long race to belong,
And a lonely mute seeks to hold the warm hand of a song,
A wandering crowd looks in vain for a companion glance,
And Luck appears to be lost, searching for another chance.
Knowing where they’ve been, they’re not afraid of fear,
save that the ability to care enough might never again be clear.
And so broken voices cry aloud unaware of any pretense,
for the insignificance that lives within is never less immense.
A heavy minute lends itself to the sounds of empty sighs,
And silent hearts intensely weep in the deep of their night skies.
Knees break down upon hard lands for they are ever falling short,
And yet they’ll gladly bleed for the heavy souls that they support.
Then Time and Chance pass by and sigh on silver chimes,
And they slowly stand and look behind for the last of many times.
For time is change and change is truth, and truth helps us to see,
That if the page is fully writ, then the pen is fully free.