Ryan David Orr



And the lines upon the faces are drawn crooked and curved,

hammered out of marble.

In forests of emerald a soft blessing is heard

In some forgotten fable.

With her voice echoing on this drive

And all your pirate days rest in their eyes.

We'll hold our tongues.

I heard there's shallow grave where the children now play

Like children there before them.

And called from the dust and bones and the layers of clay,

Our memories restore them.

In her ancient robes and riding on white wind,

She'll join the peaceful hands as all wars end.

We'll hold our tongues.

So tear out all of the pages; hang the pictures on your wall.

Let the whole world know just what you're made of.

'Cause the lines upon the pages fill books with meaningless words

And stories of places we never remember.

It's like they were never there at all.