Unheard cry to die in night,
in a silent endless fight.
Many tears that cloud or sight,

but for a poet's dying,
not one there shall be crying.
Just his own words that still weep,
and through them the sad shall seep.

Tears flow where the hope has died,
where the flow of mine has died.
Yet it is not me who cried,

but your tears that burn in me,
and for you my thoughts now plea.
Sadness that's in me a thorn,
brings again a world of mourn.

When we cross our swords with fate,
sands have slipped us to this date.
Hunger that we cannot sate,

brings to us the Endless Sea,
and forever sets us free.
After long and painful trails,
ship of life to home it sails.

Hold no fear and bear no hate,
still there's time for you to wait.
Although fast it seems the rate,

at which life slips through your hand,
not yet time for last demand.
Sleep well for the angels guard,
in their wings they hold your heart.

written on: 18-04-2003

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