short

swept skies weap from the pillow of my heart.
at night i descend into the water,
with my back against the stream.
i cry while watching my time move away.
sick and tired by the lonely soul that holds me,
i am finally me.
in a frame made by reality i dwell seeking what i miss.
what i've missed so far i have no idea,
though the images fades in the stream.
my eyes are made to see,
time is made to hold them.
streams are made to