Run, wayward one, run
Till you can run no further
The angels, they hunt in earnest now
For you, they cry 'Murder!'
Wisps of memories
Born of happy things
Now grow thorns and hooks
Piercing you
Hurting you
With the one thing you treasure most.
'Tis a crying shame, indeed
For one such as you.
But yet, you allow yourself
One fleeting glance
That lasts just short of forever.
Letting her portrait linger on the canvas of your heart.
Plead
'One moment longer.'
But truth is a cruel master
He does not answer.
He does speak these few, precious words:
"Run, wayward one, run."