dream me a poem

as she lies there

amidst the swirling sheets of blue

and i wonder if these

speculative musings of a contrarian nature

are those words so desired

or if they ring untrue.

in nature’s strange math

we are the architects of our own stories

designing theories of another tomorrow

amongst reflections of a past imperfect

and the wet leaves today smelled like she

and here we are again

after all these years

and we breathe in the awkwardness

of situations created by the scenes

of memory both yours and mine

even if we rarely speak of them

because we know that this moment

is all we have for now and maybe forever.

the night and the moon in the window

mean that we are prone to

systematic misgivings and we know that

we have changed

the world has changed

and we wonder where all those tomorrows

have gone.

the illusory elegance of self denial

has slipped away and lament might

linger lightly on your lips but these

are the songs sung by traveling bards

and the stories told of yore.