Passing Lines

Lines on the paper, Lines on the wall
Who is that drawing, Who's come to call
Some things that go unseen, but seldom fade
Like words from a time ago, brought back to wade
The ocean's calling, Its blur is dull and  not sharp
But lines make circles, and fingers pull on harps
Crickets sing their songs, but the phrases go unsaid
As whispers upon the wind, some chords are not dead
Though lines seek their sought, no heart dies unheard
That is the great mystery, The ink behind each word
Telling what one knows, one line feeds another
Some roads start again, The end is still much further