No weeping here - as the holy visions
are blurred and fog becomes the sweet charm.
Some needs to interview the Devil again,
my life has been ransacked and sold to a bidder.

And so, one waits on the river bank for the ferryman
not to be ferry to death but another spot in life.
Where one can't trade for another street to cobble
together another set of mismatch years.

Snow, snow - where are you? Come!
Please enter me, I have a gold star for you
if you pave this last road sparkling white.
All wants that gold star to simple show
that the soul and heart did bow and behave.

Yes! Yes! and yes. I told the truth -

I walk the path that this heart traded
with the perfect reason of others walkers.
And yes - the sun is wonderful and the stars
do sing beautiful on a late summer night.

But the Moon and I do love to hide
      as the nights grows bitter cold and long.

Yes and yes, I wrote the delicate truth -

All deck out in the oranges, yellows and the reds.
Footsteps, footsteps - not coming but will on a sunset.
Either theirs or mine will come to that point as the murderer.
And where God will say "Hello" and embrace the -

For now, wishing for the last snow
to take the road and mangle it back into
a line of perfect snow touched pines.

I don't want feel life anymore.