At Every Sunrise I Renounce

It Is Sweet To Think I Was A Companion In An Expedition That Never Ends

And If There Is No Lining To The World? If A Thrush On A Branch Is Not A Sign, But Just A Thrush On The Branch? If Night And Day Make No Sense Following Each Other?

What Has No Shadow Has No Strength To Live.

The Child Who Dwells Inside Us Trusts That There Are Wise Men Somewhere Who Know The Truth.

Even If That Is So, There Will Remain A Word Wakened By Lips That Perish, A Tireless Messenger Who Runs And Runs Through Interstellar Fields, Through The Revolving Galaxies, And Calls Out, Protests, Screams.