Mine is the life unlived,
For the fury of a thousand apostles
Courses in tired madness through my veins
Granting the silence of everlasting slumber
To the beat of my days.
As a pale blue cloud am I
Drifting upon an endless mercy of sky
Reflecting neither sun nor brooding rain.

My faith is my song,
For to sing is the will of the trees
That shudder in calm
As the kissing whistle of a lonely bird
Abbreviates the breeze.

Mine is the life that gives,
For in the setting sun is silver
And on the water a gilded
Memory, that I package upon a page
For the wits of children.

I am a sapphire in the green earth,
Though before the eyes of men
I am simply out of place.

So look closely, those who would scorn
The arrogance of my tastes
Which care not for the growl of resent;
Rather, the sigh of a falcon
Riding the breeze as to him it is apportioned.

My eyes see the distance
Lest the vision before them vanish
In the willingness of those truly blinded.
In the sky there is peace
And I am reminded
Not to lay blame
On the ants marching in faith
On the ground.

As a blade of shaking grass is the world
And I resent the silence that must be inferred.
There is resistance in death
Though her face is demure;
Mine is the life unlived
For I have died in my words.