The seams of this conflict melt away,
The threads of your tapestry bleed and fray
Peace at last, no more shadows cast
It's just another Sunday night, but everything's OK
Pictures of a faded memory, saved and filed away
The echoes of a distant pain dance their own ballet
In their pirouettes, their silhouetttes
Softly spin on a blanket of gray.
I trace the outlines of my writing with a shaking hand,
The vibrant words part company and stretch their legs to stand.
In a waking mind, they take their time,
And walk like their feet are sinking into sand.