Shadows hang over us like a spider’s thread,
Like the calm before the storm.
I’m not as young as I used to be,
I’m not as old as I think I am.
Bells rang over us like a sound garden in the key of red
And when I asked you to conspire with me to rob the bank of time you ran to the hills
Away from suspense and calculated thrills.
It wasn’t such a long-distance dream
Or a fly-by-night scheme,
It could have happened if only you believed.
Clouds gather below us
Like the snowy playground of angels
And I wonder if you are really gone,
To non-existence in a cold Connecticut ground
Resurrected only my memories of you,
Or are you still occasionally around
Watching me when I’m rainy and down,
The trends of protocols are mutations influenced by popular demand,
We’re all still looking for enlightenment
Trying to be happy with the latest tools at hand
And hope is easily shattered even when you try to understand,
Time is always quiet and still when you’re not looking.
Do you shake your head in dismay of the latter day?
Have all your questions been answered by now?
Do you dazzle in a kind of after-glow, calm and centered?
Or do you miss the dramas and exciting frustration of mortal linear time and the hesitant expectation of joy?