Fell short of a word just one,
At peak streak pricking inside.
Quietly set upon the wish to proceed,
Over lips dry of prayers inside.
Every sleep in the shiny night,
A day in the rising orange sun.
A voice debt of the desk wonders,
“Why believe the fall?”
A cruel smile, with teeth wicked answers,
“How astound you question,
Easy feels the fall, one for one,
Like cards over mountain thrown by winds!”
Wish could that be true,indeed,
One chance to answer the dreams.
That chisel away like mud over road,
Over the hands to seek and pray.
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