Short Story Picture Book - Lines

Carving lines that will
Be washed away
Forgetting all of the paths that we traced

When the morning comes
The sun will fall into place
Leaving us with the feeling of
Disgrace

The wilderness will be
All consuming
With us wrapped up in misunderstanding
What hope is there for us?

We make patterns that wash away
So easily
Drifting on a hopeless sea
Washed away like all the lines we left behind