Destination, Further

faking breaking oscillating, separate

the thoughts we're scraping on pads

with pens and false intent, footsteps

follow without relenting, the hope that

grows with groans of hearts misspent

never finding permanence but ever

fleeting dead content sent below to hands

that rent souls with holes of mold and

troves by stacks of traps but heaven looks

with eyes of black that track my foolish

planning spanning decades old flames of

burning methane and shine in time for her

when home is reached a place called futher