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I'm suspended now, |
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Hanging in the gray of a weather beaten town |
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December rolls around, |
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Lays a blanket of herself on the ground where comfort lives in sound, |
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Like a gun laying cold on the ground, no way to spell it out. |
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Still much to say of a gun left down. |
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Most of me is elsewhere wondering |
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Shall we hear a song? Shall we live one, soaked to the bone? |
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I'm suspended now, |
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Hanging in the gray of a weather heavy cloud, |
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Soften my face and bow, |
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Bid my farewells to the ground for now |
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Part of me is sinking, pondering. |
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Hope is a gracious term, aligned with the faith that reason |
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has a course to take, may it be the just one. |
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until then, I will drown, go down without a fit. |
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How glorious is it? |
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Bound in sound, even and weightless and free from wrist to wrist |
