Eyes of the night that hold no shame,
Tears of the morning that have no name.
A thousand thrashing wings in tempest flight,
All harbingers of miseries secret dream.
Wildflowers of hope on barren sod cling,
casting forth their seed loosing more than seen.
Amber skies with vicious lies, spring forth
from the hearts hidden well,
revealing tales that only dead men know.
giving into their torment, leaving behind
The weak in mind, and those that have
Surrendered their immortal soul.
J. Allen Wilson © 2003