As I walk on empty streets at night
passing empty benches on quiet parks,
as someone near closes his shop
I can hear a song played over this lonely town,
It chants, "Hello, the rest of us are still here."
Caught on cycles,
and stranded on routines,
we still do our chores here,
like we used to, but sighing.
We know everyone's faces at church
while you hear Mass with strangers
as we count the long nights,
while you call it a long day there
we yearn for what is lacking.
And if ever you're burning bright
wherever you are,
perhaps in here we just flicker.
So in case you wonder
why I stayed here...
On cycles, catching routines,
of just yearning, dreaming,
I could tell you how I like
to know things by heart,
really heart.
But I guess I'll just sing you a song
if you ever come back home.
It will go "Hello, the rest of us are still here."
YOU ARE READING
Live
PoetryOur hearts are brave as fire, minds gentle as earth, dreams are fluid as water, and our souls are as free as the wind. (Poetry and Prose) #2 of the end-live-begin trilogy.
