Saturday, December 30, 2006

Filtered Sunlight, Filtered Rain

Walking through these dusty Corridors
Images flash by, magic is it
And the sunlight through the grills
Providing a shade with it

And the ground is soaking wet
Raising dust storms in its wake
As the musty smell seeps up
And it's what I can keep and take

Life wouldn't appreciate being scaled
Into lines and words, four after four
And my limits are none
Not until my fingers sore

Filtered Sunlight, Filtered Rain
What is it, memories or forgetting
Feet rest after a happy walk
And my fingers do the talking

For time has come, it always will
And I remain passive to it
It's passage doesn't amuse me
Wonder, why would it

The dust of the dusk is in place
The light shines at the end of the day
Filtered Sunlight, Filtered Rain
They must be on their way