The Scroll

Sometimes life just loses its spark
And leaves you alone and wondering
The leaves on the trees still wave to the breeze
While words are written in the tall grass fields
Red winged black birds still come and go
And the faces in the clouds hover over watching
But you need that ray of light
From the moon in beams of white
To highlight the ordinary
To make it stand out in the crowd
While the detritus dissolves
While it’s substance evolves
And legends begin
Rumors in the wind
Its not so bad to see what you want
Idealists and tyros turn back at the trump
Sometimes to hear what we needed to hear
Regardless of those who hide behind yarns
There are people who pass through
Daily they come and go
Some keep on moving
While others construing
Tell us what we want
Without selfish intent
And it feels good to be home
Sit back and feel at ease
Absorb the falling autumn leaves
Anyone can define a constellation
Not everyone can create one
Then they’re gone for life
The lonely walk through the crowds remains
Try not to look at the enticing faces
They might look back with hatred in traces
Just for a painful moment
And we miss those who once made us belong
The passers by all forgotten and gone
But you made a difference
And your memory I’ll always love
Even if time rewrites your chapter
Titles and themes are still from my interpretation
I passed by my old house on the way
Through boarded windows one light still shone
Ivy frames and rusty lintels
Shards of glass and crumbling mortar
The face looking out at you
Wonders where you’ve been and why
Ghastly laughter in the background
But we must keep moving and are not sure why
The climax has come and gone
The clicking at the end of the movie lies opposite of numbered frames
The countdown at the end is just names
Unfamiliar facsimiles without fame
Countless others follow the stars
But we walk away without shame
Because we thought they didn’t matter
Although without them the story would not be the same
Importance we give to the good and the bad
Protagonists are the first to move up and away
Still before the film starts ticking
We must get away
Convince ourselves actions are just
To write our own stories away
We can watch the old scenes and edit them new
But we can not rewind, only review
The spool accelerates
And the wound film wheel grows smaller
The theatre lights are dim
Out back there are squatters who wait to get in
The music is always last
And there’s some strange satisfaction in recognition
Cars line the sides of the street
The street lights above show empty seats
The porch light is burned out
Welcoming you back
Shadowing doubt
But we all must go home
Lie naked on the cool sheets
Find our way to dreamy sleep
Where dream people live up to our whims
Nobody’s dying to get in
It’s all a lucid fantasy
Until we wake

4 thoughts on “The Scroll

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