like a tempest i dragged her back to that place
dreams, illusions and lies intertwined
into a story that is half-truth
she; frantic, remembering when;
fingering the old wound
burn it, soothe it, but it does not heal.
it festers and finds new pains
buried deep in child hood graves
though pray; i do
to find forgiveness in strength
i feel the cringe and the furrowed brow
and the light reflecting in your solemn hue
there's room in here for innocence
light, air, wind, softness
i heal with my fingertips
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