Scratch
Curtains blowing in the breeze
In an empty room
A guitar in the corner
Abandoned by it's owner
A bleach stain on the floor
Books carefully set up with no bookends
A tie-dyed pillowcase
All just a part of this scratch
In eternity
Where we choose how to see
What eyes we use on this planet
May not be the ones we should
Only through his eyes should I see
So I can for him be a prophet here to be
2-02
©2002 Justin Hardesty