childhood is a slow death
a ship being drowned in the well of your heart
light traveling through a dark tunnel
we were never young
and when we learned, we were too late after all
there comes a time when
there is only me and silence
returning alone with a cluster of clovers
it comes, the roses that bloomed without
a stem
it comes, the heart that lurched without
a string
it comes to pass, the lonely girl moaning to the dead sea
the blue flag of night dawning
the slowest death of all
we were never young
comes a time we wipe the dust from the mirror and see
we’ll never get the chance
