Palimpsest

As the scripture goes, the ghosts would flow

Through our veins, onto the kitchen floor

And echoes swore,

Like the tearful stains on the cathedral door

And yet the book he wrote was never found

The dust would gather on the crown

Just falling down,

For silence is the name of her sighing sound

Then dawn, it came and brought the blame

We talked about the shame and pain

That weighed your name,

Sinking to the shining of a waiting flame

Now your eyes are stone and mine are glass

That’s shattered into words so crass,

Upon the brass,

Slicing through the night upon the blades of grass

For the window to the willow tree

Is carved upon the silver sea

And I lost the key,

Wanting in the sky like a honeybee

While the hare is running from the fox

As I am running on the clock

Where birds all flock,

To the moment where your sacred story finally stops