Old writings script like weeds cut a shaped show,
hefting wind's course in a flowery shot ‘neath ship;
it whittled down a snug picture in a fine array,
oldman's smile glow like fling of a sunlight ray.
My nerve raked of sorrowless pain
as I thought an extreme maze,
while mountains, plains and valleys
gone berserk, the rivers stream
We must remember the time unknown...
When the whole universe was dark
and our spirits was in fortune dwell
in the womb of heavenly mansion;
The field was full of empty spears
as I walk along a lonely path;
The trimmings of the air gasp my breath
as I climb a wall of lonely treks.
Is it what we felt that is more
meaningful that what is done?
Is it among the storied fallacies
shared by those in bed, left or gone?
As I walk along the beach of sorrow
a tiny bird flew above my morrow,
the only thing's left and done
a lone footstep marked on the ground.
Oh Lord, Jesus, my Saviour:
As you redeemed me of my soul,
I have strive to be one like You;
I have searched your presence
A heart sweeter than sweet
in the eyes of many calling
from out of the deep:
A voice heard from the abyss
Way up in the skyline
a star swarmed its unending tow;
as a finger point above it
roots were anchored beneath.