Arrows of time
Gone past its line
Aiming at my feeble heart
Breaking barriers that stood in between
Killing the little hope that lived within.
But tall I stood
And mountains I spoke to
The broken notes I played
You listened to with pleasure
And from my eyes flowed fountains
you never saw.
So here, engraved on my palms
The sad story of a neverending book,
Tales I now tell like a psalm
And the road I walk is not as straight as it is,
But bent as a hook.
Thanks for reading.
