the flames speak the truth
as they fly away from their embers
it's been three dozen decembers
since my youth

the blade that's been forged
as its passed down through generations
sharper than all my creations
gets ignored

the beat of the drum
as it vibrates with a synergy
as it sparks an epiphany
but for some

the mood that remains
the need to reason, or wonder why
as the stars crawl across the sky
simply drains

it feels so unjust
i don't want to go on without her
the sunrise is a metaphor
and i must