Picking up a pen layered with dust,
That settled over raging dreams and thirst
The thoughts feel like scattered stock,
The stories rubble, I realize.
Yet after all the time that passed,
Now seems the time, to write those lines.
The raging dreams, now a quiet sea
In the depths of which can be seen,
The wretched storm that I helped raise,
Wrenching at the water’s feet
Rambling in the ruins of the storm,
Another dream was taking form
And for all the stories ending in remorse,
There’s one that starts with a “henceforth”.