Pasts of myself
Reflecting off the bookshelf
A naked truth of original sin
That every time I look
I can't help but laugh

In time there was a truth
And in present there is only this
A hope to see you again
A breathe where there is no
Exhale or inhale
Only the breathe you were made
To believe was real

Sitting atop my bookshelf
Sits the faces I cannot recognize
In dreams they come back to me
So I know I will never be free
Each birthday the shadow of celebration
Makes my heart tear when names mentioned
All forgotten
Where once I was near walking

And dreams are
The oil that slicks the road
The ribbit inside the toad
The unmentionable code
A crazy pattern not sewn
Sick tired suffering nodes
Realizing that no one ever really knows

There the faces float

Each eye a time long past
And though moments pass fast

With struggle the warmth wanes
Bringing a pain that dances profane

Pain doth not mean an untimely death
For these faces do not bring life's theft

Start anew from a new bookshelf
Touch a heart that has not yet been felt