Anthony woodard

The smallest hours

And so we greet the smallest hours

Like a long lost friend

We mold the past like Moulton glass

And to our will it bends

We form the script sip by sip

These monuments are ours

To liberate our deepest truths

To breath in stolen hours

How sweetly do we bare our souls

Eased by amber ebb and flow

To tease from deepest dark recess

Our joy and pain like silloweats

But shadows fade at Daybreak\'s call

We bow our heads as eyes grow small

And now it seems we\'ve drained our past

As sunlight fills an empty glass.