Brittle
Think not that I never dream of you, I miss you as the dunes miss the clouds, In nights filled with stars forever to count, I dream of you as the sand dreams the light. In steps of the few, I hear an echo of you, Brittle glass, sharp as a newborn's fate, Finds its way in and around my veins, As I dream a little dream of you. By its senseless cry and its might, The sun nourishes mine blissful fear, Of days and nights in this great sea, Where I shall sail without a hint of you. "I beg of ye" I scream and shout, Echoing in this world so low, Darkened by a thoughtless mind, My heart races as I think of you. Finding naught on the road north, Desire sleeps in its bed anew, Yet in its dreams all it can see, Is a longing for the love of you.