They write of singing birds and swaying trees
Of loving and being loved
While I lie here rotting,
I write of broken hearts.
I know of how bees sting
How the ocean is capable
Of drowning and devouring and such
It was so beautiful in the beginning
So clear, so peaceful, how it brings serenity to one's soul
Never thought I would drown beneath the waves.
Never thought of it at all.
I write of a wound that won't heal
Even time has abandoned and left me hanging
I write of a song of how all these years
I have been struck with the same lightning.