Page 128 - Horizon2k20-21

HORIZON, 2020-21

But back when we were blissfully aimless and

naïve

When we were still tender leaves beginning to

breathe

Our roses all grew thorn less

And they tinted our glasses

Reality was an abstract we refused to believe.

Tonight as I turn in and go to bed

turning off the radio in my head

I ask myself:

Should I gather all my stolen chances,

And twigs fallen from my broken branches

Into a cardboard box and hold it dear

As a ruined monument's souvenir?

Maybe I mistook mere sparks as a candle flame

Fire, so pure, without even shadow to its

name

I clung to it like sand on a wet foot at the beach

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