how pale
this memory has become,
almost washed away
beneath
not swift,
but slow moving clouds.
tomorrows
have arrived.
people talk too much
about nothing.
you can hardly meet them
in the eyes.
you want to think
on things, but the world
gets in the way,
demands
you pay attention to what
you don't care about.
you gaze anywhere,
but where they want you
to look.
they force words into
your ears. unwanted
thoughts into your mind.
they all have an answer.
but they have no clue.
how pale this memory
has become.
we live lives made out
of sand.
those who've never been
where you are,
will never understand.
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