Where does the grass grow but on the other side of darkness?
Where does the shade hide when the sun peaks over the crest?
Instead listen to what I have to say
Understand the pain stained on my neck
Like a tattoo of memories that you sketched
Forever seared into the skin you once had a heart for
Like a drum beaten with the dead of your fist, vessels played like violins.
So where does the grass grow? On the front lawn of our white picket fence,
Does it grow where darkness never shows?
Where is the shade from the trees that we planned on planting past three
Past four… come evening and the sunsets beneath the crest and
The light from the porch dims like your emotions caught by the wind that travels to uncharted territory
Its story which is unwritten, but with no pen to finish it, waits for attention, craves ambition, seeks the one which is near beaten from tribulation,
So let the grass grows where it pleases,
Because darkness never ceases.