I am lost in the midst of a sentence,
Found at the end of a last breath,
Traveling circles around the corners,
That mark the edge of death.

With as many footsteps in front,
And same in the back,
Circles, circles,
The weary mind loses track,
Of time as the sun would tell,
Between the lines of heaven, hell.

I am lost in the eyes of hurt,
The deep shadow of their pain,
I hear the echos of the tears,
They resound, reflect and remain,
The softest ache one ever knew,
Were the words I lost,
That spoke of you.

They whispered to me as I slept,
When I woke,
Every syllable kept,
Replayed a thousand times tenfold,
They were sweet words so softly told.

Now at the end of a line,
I am balanced on the edge,
A hint of shade,
At a sunsets end,
I set myself and pledge,
With the hand that writes,
Having writ,
Lay on the heart,
Who slowly sits,
And etch forever in the soul who slips,
The words uttered softly by my lovers lips.