Every fading memory is a montage
Dead moths on the window sill
Every poets old shoes
Are ancient remnants of the past
As dead as a skull
We were underwater
Trying to escape the bad luck
Bells shatter to dust
In the past and the future
Our scars are reminders of who we are
Glints in fire
The restless ache leaves me
Wistful and longing for more
But I feel okay for a while.