The Gathering
© jhene erwin 2003 all rights reserved
In darkened dreams I fly.
The city passes by.
Haunted are these empty halls.
Memory packs these wilting walls.
Thoughts of freedom and gravity.
Truth and history breaking free.
Tired are these ghosts I see.
Reflections of a younger me.
Another day of questions that never end.
Another hour of waiting.
The moment is fading.
A life unlived and fantasies are caving.
Another chance at recreating a reality bend.
Gathering are the parks tamed swans,
whose wings were clipped so they couldn’t run
when three bored boys closed their fate
by throwing rocks filled with hate.
Gathering are the dark storm clouds,
soon they’ll crack and cry out loud
hammering their excess weight
into rocks earthly bound.
Another day of questions that never end.
Another hour of waiting.
The moment is fading.
A life unlived and fantasies are caving.
Another chance at recreating a reality bend.
I made a deal with God to get me through
the water deep, the darkest blue,
and here I stand on the shore
the sand is hot, my temper sore.
There was nothing left before me
but empty land, dried up wood and scorching sand.
Best not to make a deal.
Truth changes rearranges what is real.
Another day of questions that never end.
Another hour of waiting.
The moment is fading.
A life unlived and fantasies are caving.
Another chance at recreating a reality bend.
