to make it up:
alone; we've learned,
the blindful wilds we procured-
are no oasis, or mirrage.

yet it is us
who hold control.
the dawn of daybreak's, shinning still-
a yellow brick road runs up that hill.

Still, I create
Still fabricate
this work, I Still, appriciate;
for a moment, I consolidate- then slowly, still,
Comemerate.

for a moment- before the sun dips into the horizon (disappearing until dawn)

"...catch a glow that warms your spirit, play a song to soothe the pain and be still. If only to renue your faith for am moment."

He would always wear my ring- giving me his full attention;
he would lay there- with me,
he listened to the music.
He listened to our songs.

And she carries my pouch, the one I made for her coins.
She carries my artwork- a piece of my mind, my imagination- one of which that even escapes my own memory-
I know she carried it,
Wherever she went.

And with a silent , namelless love, He uses my bookmark.
The one I made for him.
  I know, at every ending,
to every story-
It's there.  

A simple ring, a coin purse, a bookmark;
like the unity of a song we all listen to at once-
were pushed together, bound by memory,
and immortalized in such fleeting feelings.
  
Isn't It Strange? That within these three mundane objects
I take solice.

If you were the sun I'd bask in your light and if you were the stars, I'd see them tonight.  If you were the rain I'd be driffted to sleep, in the same room from the memories only we keep. I'd be engulfed in your sound, listening id forget,
The pain, my reality and every regret

And when the darkness comes
I'll remember this moment.
Where we held out our hearts
& filled them with faith-

hopeful,

To
    be
        free.