Echos of a haunted beyond drift across this gentle shore,
Washing upon each stone like a memory at the horizon.
Each pulsing beat moving me between past and present,
Like a swinging form upon a gallows.
Dark are my eyes of late,
Keeping me here upon the water.
Swing side to side,
Like a scythe upon grass.
Cutting clean through these troubled thoughts,
Let me feel a storm roll with my depths.
Rising up as if smoke from the mount,
Oh let me burry my face within bone white hands.
That I may turn to dust and forget,
Oh to find sweet peace between these yellowing reeds.
But I am only a lone form at the waters edge,
Being esteem alive by the past.