Holy ghost created the coast
the beauty of sun-swept lost,
Sun pops up like warm toast
burns like hands gripping rope.

There's been a demon raging
far too long gnawing at me,
I've held onto my sinful pride
lost the view of graceful trees.

Its not inside that lies a mystery,
Its the outside that determines,
if our eyes closed can finally open
and see the warmth of humanity.

If we can move past tunnel vision,
we can improve and open wide,
Not make irrational decisions
keep the door open, not sliding.