the cold desert of insecurity
hinders you and me
it creeps on slowly with time
across the rising tides of your mind

i pray you not leave me destitute
i battle a leviathan of sorts with a sword made of wood
ill not be remembered as the fallen
a humble name in stone to be covered soon with lichen

the wind blows foul forward
the river doesnt want to flow
but your face still appears in my dreams
and in your heart i long to be...