The charcoal footprints mar the boards
across the rugged floor.
The wise, adored, and agèd face
leans in for but a taste.

With a flavour in mind (too familiar, yet sweet),
the worshipped one tends to his tasks.
From the small, seam-full void,
he unravels small joys
and bestows his own deeds to your wealth.

For the fragmented soul,
there is only one hope;
restoration of claims so outrageous.
Lest you revel and bask
in the brashness you dealt,
your depletion of arms 'comes contagious.

Some piece of me is left behind;
perhaps my heart, perhaps my mind.
For there's one assures me I am home,
while th' other claims that I am gone.

I left my home so long ago,
is it still worthy of the name?
Or must some majority dwelling be known
by this title, the very same?

My whereabouts has changed so much,
with each new moon, I'm somewhere new.
Yet each house has its' homely touch,
for in each one, I'm finding You.

They say that home is where the heart is.
I fear there's too much truth in this.
I feel my heart is being shattered.
I feel my heart is being scattered.

Doubt not how I love thee;

the very thought doth wound me.
But                      
something's lacking
           something's stagnant
something's stale.

My choices,                    
             out of                 love      
for thee          
                                 have strained
                                 have struggled
                                                                           hard.
My choices,                    
          out of                  hope  
for me            
                                  are dependent
                                  are contingent
                                                                                   upon you.

My dreaming,                  
                                           so                                             far-fetched        
they say          
needs naught
but
                                  your true love.
But
                                     love
                      is not      enough
    I say
                                     to bring
                      these       dreams
                                      to life.

Will you hide behind this vanity;
this mask of          and such?
    love

Or will you face                                                  
the truth                                    
I seek            
                   and answer
                     an answer
the one I need?                  
your example                             of love                            
your love                              for me                        

    That is       the answer
                       I need.

And we are children still,
we who lack the will
to relinquish what we learned of love -
its timeless, epic, hopeful thrill -
despite our experience in the world.

Things were so clear when
they were not clear at all.
We had nothing to fear when
we didn't know what fear was.
Things were simpler when
we had time on our side;
we didn't know what it was
or how fast it could fly.

As we take our
final steps from here,
can you tell me one last time
how we ever came this far?

With your hand in mine
and a smiling face.
With the sun shining down
in every dark place.
With a child's mind
and a lover's eyes.
With nothing left to fear
but ourselves.

Oh whisk me away,
ye winds of fate.
My flesh, it withers here.
'Tween the toll of the tide
and the chortle of Time,
my mind so refrains from its' ease.

There once was a day
when my spirit could claim
that is was quite relieved by your lead.
But more often than not,
it seems your clever plots
are foiled by Time and her schemes.

So don't drag me on,
don't tell me your plans,
don't try to dodge Time and her tricks.
Just leave me alone,
with my own plots and schemes,
and I'll fend for my own ****** self.

When harsh winds blow, you strengthen me so
and fill my lungs with breath.
This faint heart shall not drop its' pulse
nor beating in its' chest,
these weary legs shall never rest
nor stumble where they tread.
Tho' scrapes and gashes do gnaw at my arms,
not a cry shall escape my lips.
Tho' loves do come and leave me, oh,
your hand in mine ever rests.
Hatred rips across my chest
as the strike of a thousand whips,
but the heat of your love mends every wound,
bestills my wavering hand.
Tho' the drop of a single feather
could shatter my very world,
it is you who blows the harsh winds, oh,
you fill my lungs with breath.