Feb. 13, 2005
Doors
open and close as we search for that exit to our entrance,
In lost minds, the drifter passes by from one lane to another.
Tuned breaths sound like the midnight melody,
A dance in time with waltzes and violent breaks.
The legacy behind is only for the watchers of the wind,
We see the clearness of each empty space.
Flowers are so pretty pretty when the fall,
And as they lay, they wish to be part of the clouds again…