On some of their faces
There were traces
Of acne
The oily composition
Of beings born, with fallen wings
Lives birthed under shadows
Outside of the gardens and cities
Where the citadels of refuge hung
We stood
Waiting for our own set of keys
I looked to my left and right
With no idea who was besides me
But there was a vagueness that I needed to explore
Because In the emptiness of your eyes
I found a connection, a glint of my father
We were coming from the same place
Travelers from the open graves of birth
Hoping to find a resting place
Under the cedar trees,
made for temples and made for us
A place to judge
A place to rust
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
On some of their faces
There were traces
Of acne
The oily composition
Of beings born, with fallen wings
Lives birthed under shadows
Outside of the gardens and cities
Where the citadels of refuge hung
We stood
Waiting for our own set of keys
I looked to my left and right
With no idea who was besides me
But there was a vagueness that I needed to explore
Because In the emptiness of your eyes
I found a connection, a glint of my father
We were coming from the same place
Travelers from the open graves of birth
Hoping to find a resting place
Under the cedar trees,
made for temples and made for us
A place to judge
A place to rust
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