A poem
Fleeting are the words we say,
in the stillness of a sunrise
when the winds of time stand still, and
strands of fond remembrances unwind.
On the path that leads to nowhere,
I have sometimes found my soul,
knowing precious moments
in the echoes of a song
I will not taste the salty tears of last goodbyes,
for my yesterdays walk with me.
An innocence that once I knew
blows the tempest, and dims the pain.
Voices now circle the insomniac moon,
before sound slips into silence,
and I fall to sleep inhaling fragrant bliss.