Canyon Walls

December 14, 2011

Staring at the canyon walls
I speak into the fog bank
A monk in a snowstorm
A mansion on a emerald hill

Talk of a takeover
The crowd packs it up
A thunderstorm brews on the horizon
Your mother serves the lunch

Time goes so fast and your belly aches
Maria calls the theater
Your seats are reserved
Will you make it

I am an old man sitting on a stone wall
Fields of hay on either side
I see the beast walk out of the black woods
He has no eyes

Laying in a soft field of flowering blooms
The sky is the lightest of blues
You are neither hot or cold
The clouds spell her name

– kyle