I have a feeling of longing that's wisping like the leaves on the ground.
If the air catches just right you can smell the wet dew that's fleeting and fleeing the wind,
Sure to dry it up if it catches on.
I wish I could explain the choke in my chest,
Like a foreboding sadness, unexplained and unattained, yet somehow gripping me all the same.
The prophets foretold what no one could know and we believed them,
Ducking under the trees to protect us from the piercing rays of light.
Truth is all the same when you call it by it's name,
But I like to call it by it's heart.
It's the difference between sound and sadness, love and madness,
My eyes are clouded with the jumbled letters.
And the fog never clears.