Another sound of the clock ticking, hands moving,
time passing by the yesterday's that we once drove
through on empty roads with our 4-wheel-drive.

Not enough to have struggled with the ties
that bound our hands to the steering column,
yet, trapped beneath the ton of crushed metal
with the swerve in the road that inherently
caused our amassed suicidal grip.

Sounds from the night falling into our laps
coherently breeds with the shadows that play
along the lining of the brush sides winding.

Sighs louder than a pin dropping through the
hay across the barn floor. Inside echoing
along the cool concrete walls holding the center
of matter-of-fact wiles.

Nestled beneath your bosom of yesterday's, holding a
part of tomorrow, the dreams don't come crashing down
as the glowing of the ambered stars above shine with
a ferverent brightness lighting everything around that
was once dark.

Once dark - absence of light throughout the
darkness - shadows run and hide from the unending
tunnel of everything serene.

12/21/2003

Posted on 12/21/2003
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