Back where it began...

Driftless daft wind,
a pale moist night,
footsteps on dew,
the lights pouring through.

Days slip past,
as redemption seems afar,
as sands upon the shore,
I walk,
mute, motionless.

Back to where it began,
I find myself again,
dew drops remain,
on the path walked by,
Driftless daft wind,
a pale moist night.

A hope did arise,
admist silent cries,
a solemn dream; alone,
in a morbid tomb stone...