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