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Good morning or good afternoon, whichever comes first,
I can't remember all these facts, I haven't rehearsed.
Can you read between the lines of things that we've said,
or keep the swirling ion stormclouds out of your head?
Silently the people fall like motes in a beam,
and sleepers jump arrhythmically, awoke from their dreams.
A dancing shadow casts a line that shouldn't be crossed,
for any time they dare to try the image is lost.
Mushroom spores all luminesce and old crystals glow,
silently illuminating paths that you know,
in caves you wandered hungrily alone in your youth,
when you were more ambitious and you wanted the truth.
But now your apprehension leads to a different take,
and you know what you didn't then: there are higher stakes.
You survey cautiously and never stick out too far,
for fear that someone sees you for what you really are.
Round and round forevermore the clock hands must turn,
time will carry forward as great ships sink and burn.
There isn't any destiny, no grand twist of fate,
at least you never think so until it's just too late.