The Sorrow's Worn

the winds do wield your sorrow's worn
and heal the wounds
you have picked and torn
thoughts do turn to self
and throw away the things 
stacked shelf-to-shelf

the leaves like sin do turn and toil
as your thoughts do burn and boil
but the wind
the glorious wind
do lift these on vagrant wings

the sunset, the stain that remains
is yet to be washed away
it loves first and follows after
and all that remains is God's crazy laughter.