Your time waves like sounds;
your hope's blurry lense,
your firm, spotless ground,
your bleeding's no sense;
you're low as the clouds;
yet soar like a plane;
your teardrops are bound
to cease like the rain;
you'll never know how;
nor even know when;
you only have now;
your page and your pen;
for but future counts
your present's your gain;
no dawning amounts
no midnights of pain.
