Days. Weeks. Months. Years.
We'd like to think we can outrun our fears
But we all know that is a fool's hope
The body that hangs at the end of the rope
Doesn't live on the promises of tomorrow
And neither should we

Come thou times of distress and grief
Though I know myself to be weak
Worldly trials are not my end
Forever hence I will find relief
As I shall come to learn and seek
A hope which can not be penned

No words for thoughts too many
A hollow shell of times to come
Plug the holes with poems of own
My wishing well takes no penny
You've heard the stories of some
Of a time with no wings they've flown