We live for these days,
When everything takes a seat
And only beauty squeezes through
Taking the sky as its canvas
Substituting paint for other means-
A bird promised of brighter skies
But there is no clearer place than here-
Cotton cloud scattered and burning
Hoping to fill every crevice of
The world's ceiling

You can reach out your hands
Block out the sun with your finger
It is almost like you, my dear
Have the power within your reach
To control the weather
And I even get the chills
When I truly feel the sun won't be there
After I remove my finger from view
Because that's when, my dear
Our lives will truly be over;

May we narrow our travels
To find the origins of the sun
So when it, too, begins to die
We can maybe find other means to survive.

03/08/2009

Posted on 03/09/2009
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