Strange how the clock can't make up its mind.
Or is that us?
We sit like stones in a desolate quarry,
Throttled by our minds.
We await direction.
Can we get it from the slant of light coming from the sun?
Or perhaps from the low hum of the abysmal moon.
If I choose to walk in shadow it is because I have a secret.
If I walk in daylight,
It is because I search for an answer.
But why these lights and shadows?
Where is the emerald of my song?
It is locked away in the vault of my promise.
Sometimes I lose the combination
And move naked from corner to corner
In search of a hint.
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