700 Miles

I know that I’m soft spoken.

And I know it’s time to go.

I’ll make my way across the room,

to denounce my presence again, from you.

It’s late, and I’ve been walking on back roads.

Searching for old bottles and weird walls.

Taking photos just to prove some relevance of an artist.

So, that you don’t see anything but me walking tall.

Like some kind of seed, I’ll plant myself in your mind.

Please water me at night.

And open the blinds in the morning.

And remember I’m somewhere lost inside a room without a light.

A weekend to put a puzzle to start.

Questions of silence.                   

It’ll be such a shame for us to part.

Just when the sun shines on our seedling so bright.