I have written much of my passing life,
in so very many different ways.
I have listened to wise men and sat down with fools,
but most things stay the same.
Now its words that I write cause I am tired of the fight,
hoping the truth won't get lost in the rhyme.
and no matter how hard I try I still don't know why…
so much gets lost in time.
Once fire proof and yearning for a world that kept turning,
now older no longer so strong.
I have seen to much killing by people too willing,
this is not where I yearned to belong.
This world keeps on turning and people keep burning,
and my words seem futile at best.
But the few words I write in the darkness of night
are just giving my poor heart a rest.
