Kicking around in the dust
Of another directionless day
Wishing on a long dead star
That revelation is real
We were stillborn in this place
Reached up through the lattice of weeds
Grew old and tired and died here
As if we had ever lived
And floating high above the clouds
We see at last what all this if for
The hamster running on his wheel
The time that nevers ends
The pull of procreation
That withers in the dying light
And leaves our winters colder
Than the ghosts that haunt our heads.
© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020