Still air
The clouds conceal the stars tonight. This is lonesome weather, just barely cool, barely a breeze to overcome the stillness. The crickets are my company tonight, and fading memories of the time when the heat breaks, the memories fading but the sensations burned into my retinas. It strikes harder every year, the nostalgia, the feeling that I've missed something in the past years, that I made a deadly wrong choice years ago.
I've said goodbye to too many people in these few years. Too many leavetakings and too few happy reunions. The seas have taken their toll on too many of you, and whatever we once had has been consumed by the waters. Have I fallen overboard, finding a second baptism in a cool, calm ocean? Why is it that my vision of what is to come is so weak, but the visions of the past are burned into my retinas?
Promises have lost their meaning, the strength of your words has withered, I've come to accept our parting as final, and given your ashes to the waves. Our reunion will never come, the coals burnt themselves out. Whom have we to blame but ourselves, our neglect, our failure to tend them? We burned too fiercely in too short a time, and failed to find fuel for the flames. Were they simply too bright, the flames that I still see in bright green when I close my eyes? Were they quenched by the salty waters before you washed ashore? What is this image, a future sight, or simply the ghostly reminder of a flame long since extinguished?
I've said goodbye to too many people in these few years. Too many leavetakings and too few happy reunions. The seas have taken their toll on too many of you, and whatever we once had has been consumed by the waters. Have I fallen overboard, finding a second baptism in a cool, calm ocean? Why is it that my vision of what is to come is so weak, but the visions of the past are burned into my retinas?
Promises have lost their meaning, the strength of your words has withered, I've come to accept our parting as final, and given your ashes to the waves. Our reunion will never come, the coals burnt themselves out. Whom have we to blame but ourselves, our neglect, our failure to tend them? We burned too fiercely in too short a time, and failed to find fuel for the flames. Were they simply too bright, the flames that I still see in bright green when I close my eyes? Were they quenched by the salty waters before you washed ashore? What is this image, a future sight, or simply the ghostly reminder of a flame long since extinguished?