The fingers touch like sensitive fronds,
Longing and regret.
I wasn't made for anyone.
I wasn't made of stone.
There's nothing wrong
On this beautiful morning
Everyone living blessed lives
As the vistas are covered in white
But the only sounds are tears
Unheard beyond the engines
That know only how to serve and move
Through silver's ungovernable hue.
It promises what this shell doesn't have:
No memories, of morning glories,
Distressed damsels coaxing miscreant weeds
For unseen harvests.
They say you can never leave
But can you ever say you've arrived
With so much hardship on the voyage
To only dream?
Unrealized in eucalyptus trees,
Unspoken of in the light that fires up eyes,
And all the reasons that you came
Replaced like bean cans on grocery shelves.
Angelo's Burgers, through it all, serves
Though it does not say a word.
The birds fly over what was once a river;
That's what freedom looks like
In the morning sun, before
The steam shoots up again,
The train horn wards off suicides,
The decision must be made.
The parking lot is empty at the trading
Company, the prize still far away
Beyond the glittering spires that are
Everything you want them to be.
The seagulls rise in a bloom
And hold their wings for you.
The void is only where you leap.
It is never who you are.
