On the morning of my youth
And now—the moon rises
Like the sand, slipping through my hand
On this graveyard afternoon
I am forever changed.
Not for the wearied or the weak
Do I live nor die.
I could count every shell
That has landed by my feet
And now—I turn for home
Like these grains falling down like rain
No day will be the same
And I hope to fade in the dusk I made
For the man I murdered
When I turned for home.
The moon now whispers,
“I will be here,”
And I’ve waited so long
For rest, I’ve waited
So long to rest.
user052124137:
❤️