Awful it is how much I talk -
Yet how little is heard-
Forgive, of me, this vacancy-
for I am with the birds,
In flight I find - some peace of mind
Where lonely cannot touch-
Now disconnect, I may reflect-
The sting that stung enough,
I fly beyond the white embrace
To temples in the sky-
For in the air - my own despair
Is soundless as a cry,
This wind, mine - this sky, mine,
All these dreams follow true-
But of all things - You have no wings -
I can never have you.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Awful it is how much I talk -
Yet how little is heard-
Forgive, of me, this vacancy-
for I am with the birds,
In flight I find - some peace of mind
Where lonely cannot touch-
Now disconnect, I may reflect-
The sting that stung enough,
I fly beyond the white embrace
To temples in the sky-
For in the air - my own despair
Is soundless as a cry,
This wind, mine - this sky, mine,
All these dreams follow true-
But of all things - You have no wings -
I can never have you.
