Faded Lines

Hands retrace faded lines of the soul.

A life once visible, yet now buried in a dark bitter cold.

To touch, to feel, to live unto this forgotten past

To chase illusions of remission brought hereunto on a crippled mass.

So many men walk alone in this garden of desolation,

They reach out, they search for hope, and they seek salvation.

For it is by vision born of a pure and virgin heart,

That these same souls without redemption do part.

They spake not of the things which their eye did see,

They chose not to partake of their hearts simple plea.

Yet now of those who still remain behind,

They are left but to retrace the forgotten soul

In the obscurity of faded lines.

J. Allen Wilson © Nine 2006