Old Fashioned.

a brush, a stroke, a smear

riding over the dusty snow

a mistake, a tear, a smudge

its over its done its not always final.

Lost or Running

The mist follows down the slippery rocks

Can it hold?

The ashes blow into the fierce winter wind

Will they dissolve?

The dew evaporates into the heat and dryness of the mid morning

Ever to return?

Here and Gone, Then and Now.

Starting Fresh

The cover opens to reveal the blackened sky

Evil encompasses.

The rivers have overflown and now spread their fifth over the land

Evil rises.

Falling, Fading, Crashing

Evil Wins.