The middle of two worlds lies in slumber now,
But If my mind was to wander, which it eventually does-
I find myself amongst those September days, waiting.
Waiting for you to come, for the anticipation to ascend into
little more than a sigh or a promise, soaking in the tangy taste of
salt lips and suspicious clear skies…of a snatch at the slipping sand of
what I like to call childhood. And what you call a day.
But you don’t see the world like I do, a jumble of excitement and-
half hearted disappointment, tied together by an endless search for inspiration,
A need to relate to something, a shadow, anything.
You see the world through an empty, poisonous grin.
For things, even your troubles come and go easily,
You wave at them whilst they fly past.
And I am left to stumble in your jelly sandal wake,
Yet I need you more than I admit.
To lead the way through the clouds, and to show
Me that place. Our place where we’ll met tomorrow.
And you’ll show me your world all over again,
And shade my face with your hand,
From the scorching sun of my own.
