(for there are still lights to be brought out)

With the passing of each step
The crickets halt
Never knowing what's in store
Never knowing I swore for more
But poor wars start tours of lore
And terror

Of time
(and it's error)

For we are here again at this familiar junction to be

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat
Steps one through three
Thus, there must be triadic harmony
Within the changing of leaves
I have yet to see

So await upon me to convert doubt
Alas, there are some words that must be sought out

(while there is still a tongue within my side-ways mouth)