Trace the pages of an open book
if your heart is true
silent sentences because you look
spring to life for you
Frozen stillness in a northern sky
the moon so full and so cold
sails away from me but can’t deny
the stories I am told
For on the canvas of forever silence
form the colors of his heart and his soul
in the twinkle of forever islands
They are
traces of his spirit
leaves of distant grass
whispering that morning has
as yet to come to pass
Traces of a searcher
gleaning something old
deep within a stillness as
his weary wings unfold
Thus he dies
gathered by a pall
of blind and freezing
control
Wrought by lies
tender as they call
to lure, to seize
his soul
his soul
Leaving us his traces
in a fading light
fertile with his sorrow
and begotten by his plight
Traces of his spirit
beats of fading wings
reaching for the morning and
the promise that she brings
Muses come to him when suns go down
inky fingers roam
furrowed brow in a beleaguered frown
tracing dreams of home
Immortal images in truthful grace
leave his battered shell
forever stunning those he has to face
in his daytime hell
And on the canvas of forever silence
form the colors of his heart and his soul
in the twinkle of forever islands
They are
traces of his spirit
shadows of his path
fighting in the lingering and
scornful aftermath
Traces of a painter
skillful strokes belie
pain that tore and broke him
and the love that saw him cry
Still his eyes
glimmer with a light
that none will seize
nor control
As I rise
guided by that light
to see, to free
my soul, my soul
Leaving by his traces
by his myth and lore
tracing all those wild and holy
traces from before
Traces of my spirit
wings alive in flight
soar a sky of wonder and
of mystical delight
And on the canvas of forever silence
form the colors of my heart and soul
in the twinkle of forever islands
