Everyone’s talking at once and I can’t seem to hear what they’re saying!
The dominos are falling only to form a melody of unheard notes.
Harmonica thoughts are not much good in a planet of no music,
What small breeze began this storm going on inside me?
I am but a funnel, spinning recklessly – increasing its speed –
As it gathers debris – of what once represented security.
Faith lies, drenched by the storm – gasping for breath –
Somehow discarded from the driving tornado,
Strengthened only by weakness.
I surge through all that I find in my way –
Once creating – now destroying,
Towards the one dam that will sustain its force,
And etched coldly on it’s wall are all the wrong things I have done.
The rain becomes my own tears –
The wall of death becomes the Savior of life –
As I ride towards that lonely train stop,
Alone……