The colors fade in
As I slowly fade out
To where you ran
So very long ago
To forsake the sun
And hide away
A dusty trail
I follow close
To where I must go
Where you've already been
It wont be my last visit
Nor is it my first.
The flowers on our grave
That never should've been
On your knees crying.
My time here is almost done
I observe and forget
To remember to cry.
Its my last time here,
and also the first.
We travel the wheel,
strapped on our backs.

::March 4, 2003 03:38 PM

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