twisting

it is the hunting of the day
and the cadence of the will
that finds the prey

in the turning of the tide
and the floating of the heart
it burns it wide

of the dripping of the rain
and the slipping of the pride
the shadow gains

the means come, the thoughts go, the hand rests

it is the beating of the drum
and the gasping of the breath
that calls us come

in the sweeping of the shore
and the stabbing of the pain
it fills with more

of the singing in the night
and the dreaming of the mind
the winning fight

the means come, the thoughts go, the hand rests