The Golden Age
It's strange"¦
It's no news to you"¦
No longer delay the truth, I've needed to push off for some time.
Promise to keep your mind with you and I'll return your heart
but now it's time to find out about all with which I'm made.
My fragments were scattered across every last shore
within the efforts to create this now dissolving race.
Ages ago we would die to further the whole but we've since forgotten our place.
Patiently etching glass through scenes that make everyday.
Adrift triangular bliss where every side equates.
Creatures beneath have never counted a league,
nor have they tracked the sun until it falls asleep.
The wind picks up and the water is getting rough, as I tread the angry earth's working brain.
With each wave comes a chance of being erased.
What's left of me is violently swept to land; land that I had taken for granted.
My pieces were scattered across every last shore when I tried my hand in the game.
(May the waves help carry my sound, and send home love from men who won't be found.)
Ages ago I promised I'd return your heart, whole. But it seems the plans have changed.
(I beg the waves recall when I said, "as long as you live, I'll live through you.")
Accidents aren't all the same.
There are some that make you glad they came.