Open the doors and purge
The stream of bleary people
A flood, pressing for escape
The eternal escape
And fighting the belated urge
To run

Soft, the night,
As liquid air heals
The ravages of day
The red sun burns
And lights the tiresome path,
But rest now, my darling
Under the gentle wrap of night
Water for the weary
Sleep, my darling, sleep

The brontide words
Of a wounded man
Echo still,
Silent
From when they began
In this place.
...
A voice, not his!
But an Injured man anew
Casting the echoes back
To the stranded,
The echoes remain
Repeated in a new voice
From another wounded man
With brontide dreams

Thick white clouds
Drown rolling mountains;
Gone before the first cold fingers
Can touch the wind-whipped water

I felt the first kiss
Of a pain so familiar,
I welcome the loss
Before it begins;
The knife in place
I mourn my pace
Too soon, I cry,
Too soon.

The silence of the world
As I wander it alone,
Love it's warmth in solitude
The sky shall be my fortitude
And the sun; my sweet embrace,
The dew a kiss, and leaves a face,
The wind my friend and brother,
Why would I need another?
As I travel this world alone.