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Thursday, February 16, 2012


When your lying on your death bed
Atop stacks of gold piled high
Will you care whats beneath you
Or where your priorities lie
When all that's behind you
Lays buried in snow
And all that's in front
Is black and unknown.

Who's hand will you hold
Not the piles of gold.
Not the weeds in the garden
Or flowers in the snow.
The hand that you seek
will be too broken to show
Crying somewhere lonely
Deep in the acid soil
For which you sowed.

Don't let what's important
Whither black and grow cold
Lest the eve's final moments
Leeks acid from their seeds.
And the great size of your heart
Which I know to exist
Dies bitter and scared
Unloved and unaware.

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