Don't know how it got this way
where the things I've needed most to say have escaped my thoughts
and now I lay in the grass, unchanged.
Watching clouds go rolling by
with the smallest feeling in my heart,
beating steadily behind the drum that my head now drives.
Slowly, I've been influenced
by heroes who seemed heaven sent.
Only now, I see their death
as the push I need to stand again.
Oftentimes it might be best
to turn and look at what we've left
behind and see if, in the mess, hides a piece we should have kept.
Photographs of what we were
in simpler times than these, obscure,
seem to hold the single truth of our core.
Time and time and time again
we promise ourselves to stay
true and sweet and innocent.
We do it with our fingers crossed.
