Beyond Grace

I paint a memory down the lane,

Of the strings you play,

I wear a stranger's story,

He tells me there's a girl

Beyond his glory.



I sing of the foregone lores,

In times of catastrophe.

There's still craters across my skin,

From the stains of your fingertips.

And when I scrub with vigor,

It's clear as my demise,

Failing to unbind;

From the depths of your eyes.

Locked away at chains;

But you still rise.

Greeting me again.