Stranger

A whisper in the daylight rolls into darkness

and fades away into the stars.

Inward flow the echoes

and outward show the scars.

A figure in the rain, somberly walking,

treading by the roses in the garden.

Old memories of fires and gravestones

trickle down into the soil.

But footsteps and echoes now rest beneath the roses

and soon they will rot away.

But even if that grave were to come unraveled,

we'd find nothing but shadows of the past.

Oh, dearest stranger, the road you had traveled

had miles of shattered dreams to come.

Home, yes, home, the wonder you had wanted

now lies beneath a pile of broken ash.