The Voice That Ceases To Exist

     Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had spent doing it,
     and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind,
     and there was nothing to be gained under the sun. [Ecclesiastes 2:11]


times passes and the fires grow dim
in the morning when the sun rises
and the cool winds caress my face

(when dreams turn to folly they plant seeds
and from them grow the husks of empty words)

time passes and the fires grow dim
in the day when the sun is hot
and the warm winds call your name

(when dreams turn to obsession they plant seeds
and from them grow the husks of wounded pride)

times passes and the fires grow dim
in the evening when the sun fades
and the winds whisper of what was

(when dreams turn to regret they plant seeds
and from them grow the husks of bitterness)

times passes and the fires grow dim
in the night when the sun is gone
and the winds become as silent

as the voice that ceases to exist

(when dreams turn to self-pity they plant seeds
and from them grow the husks of darkness
where the thoughts dwell upon the sorrow
of what we leave behind under the sun)