Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Young.

I remember
standing in the dark
when the street lights
began to glow

and you were holding
for a broken doll
who came charging
down the road

we sat down
crossed legged in the park
where the iron man
held his charge

and the full moon
was a silver god
but the man inside
was still at large

and you said,
how many lives to go?

In the morning
lying in the light
of our friendship's
fading glow

I pointed
to a golden bird
who shimmered
above us on the bough

of a dying tree
whose red leaves, soaring down
were streamers at our
final dance

and your cold blue eyes
were taken by surprise
when Death
gave us
that one more chance

and we said,
how many lives to go?

Then
we burned all our sorrow
and cherished the day
and the same goes
tomorrow
when
we'll
be
young
and
innocent
again.

No comments:

Post a Comment