by Joshua Converse05 Jul 2013
On a bench on a summer afternoon,
a stranger told me life is long,
or seems so when one chooses wrong,
she did not spare a look for me, gazing rather at the moon.
On the deck of a ship at night,
I smoked a slow cigarette,
whispered secrets of regret,
searching the shore for points of light.
Underneath the autumn trees,
I found I had no tears to weep,
had no promises left to keep,
as leaves retreating in evening’s breeze.
Wakening beside twin streams,
I hummed a Springtime lay,
and watched the breaking of the day,
still grasping at my dreams.