Right there
Within the sound of music
Focused on my inner dreams
I stroll among the flowing
Grain that stains my heart
In fields of streams

The dust flows softly
As I melt in bones
And ditch the witches
Of all my years
Who cast their spells
And dwell upon 
   my fears

With strong determined
   blistered
      hands
I mold a life
And pull the strand
Of patterns
   stolen from a bastard land
That beckons
   like the crumbled rock
That scatters finely
On the ticking
   clock

(c) 1996 James Oliver Smith, Jr