What Will Be GoneSalvation in my palm and the sorrow departs from my voiceHer pen sown in the pocket of my denim its rustle is my reminderOf the turmoil in her blue eyes that pushed me down to shoreStranded by the river I harvested every lone, forgotten seedOnce the spring awakens and the darkness enters a slumberThen each thorn in my foot will become a petal of marvelous debrisShe does the contrary, more alive with every degree that dropsAs her footsteps emerge from beside the bed I hear the perfect stormThere's a light that's sleeping waiting to weep in my time-worn soulFoolproof keys unlock her leave for my tongue-tied departThey're the
it's lovely~
thanks
nice work!