not you to know,
for words speak few meanings as truth.
remain then i a mystery unknown,
for you cannot see,
what cannot one behold.
so place i whatever before cascading desolate lands,
the weight for wounds i for now should bury,
but if, should they,
only if, should they let me,
what then for flowers bloom,
though their fragrence permeates this lone room,
and for sight their beauty looms,
but i inside a walking dead…
as my breath gathers and soon so disappears.
for wings if i could grow them on my back
to soar above the clowdy storms,
for wings wish i again to fall,
i for one not known to fly.
escape to speak what longing this heart to hear,
in fear, the distant calling to the deep,
for sight not i to have but see yet blind,
thus, hold inside what do i not understand.
this is not i,
the one who speaks my name,
yet for i,
invite my old ghost to linger in,
where then to go,
this dark awakening,
it is not there