Lost Sheep Productions

I have words that exist without a voice
Poetry without place, space or choice
A day void of morning, noon or the night
A sense without power to make things alright
Lyrics that serve as the missing link
Questions that otherwise make people think
Stumbling around without tune or melody
A sun setting might offer a simple remedy
Wind without leaves
An oceanless tide
A fire awaiting
Contained and inside
If only the dew would give up its breath
The seed would be freed to live by it's death
And the origins of life would finally be
Absolved from debate, released and set free
Words without tune just passing by
Pillars erected that reach to the sky
A message that might just break down the wall
Keeping the children apart in it all
And with the days given to eating
It passes away in every heart beating
Finding the place where words might be made
To blossom inside the place they are laid
Is the simple task that suffers along
Awaiting the day to be made a song

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Numbers for pew rent