Forest of Broken Dreams

Lost in the back of my head
I don't know what it is.
Some say it is intuition,
telepathic delusions of discontent

Voices that tell me of the danger
overcoming my senses of the grain
of the rings in the times of the trees of the past
and the solid stones know no future
but that of hot and cold ice that melts them.

Just like the furnace that you stoke to blow me away
The despair I feel of your cold shoulder
and the tears down my cheek
puddle and pool flowing into rivers that mate and
feed my forest of broken dreams.