In an effort to sustain
The wounds of time
I restored an old poem
Ingrained in rhyme
Of happy thoughts lost
Years of searching for home
I had written everything
At the time
That I had known

In the restoration
Of all my words
I was never meant to serve
The self seeking doubts
   Indeed a lot of it about...
Yet good thoughts
Were meant to manifest
As these wounds of time
Slowly matter less and less...