Can burnt bridges be rebuilt,
some might say it's so.
This time is lost
and found again
and what of these years have passed -
we are not now
what we were back then
even if we still might dream,
that those times before
could come again
and bring us haunted things.
To haunt, to have, to die again,
to leave it all behind.
What of these strange
and broken strings
that bind and hold us fast?
What good could come
what bad befall
behind these bleeding eyes,
that closed for me
a doorway to
before this now was then.
It isn't, it was, it should've been,
but it wasn't
so now it won't.
But "IT COULD" I scream!
It can I dream
be brought up from the ground,
this sooty bedrock,
these blackened beams
compacted over time,
washed hard with tears
and strong with years
reformed, refinished, refined.
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