Dali called it 'Persistance of Memory'
I call it, the Sands of Time
Exodus! Exodus!
There lie barren sands and swamps...
Melting time, merging space
Life goes on
Here and there...clocks and cuckoos
I stand and stare...
I watch the watch,
You watch me
Everyone's looking
For an identity.
Pictures speak
A thousand words
Whispering secrets
You and I have never heard
And life moves on
Dreams fade
Into the Sands of Time
Away...Away...
A blue and white fire hydrant stands lonely and old,
Staring, in despair, at the dancing leaves of gold.
Naked branches reach out to woolly clouds above,
Swaying in tune to the bells in a distant alcove.
Blond hair swept up by the wind, while slender hips swing,
With the poise of an Australian supermodel or a Swedish king.
Sunlight filters through the dark slanted windows,
Warming the cold white metal stairs and the coiled fire hose.
A stranger wanders, top hat askew,
Reading the chalk writings on the path, as if there were secrets he knew.
I savor these moments like a juicy orange on a cold winter’s day,
There is much to know, much to be learned and so much to say.
A flash of light and the sky turns grey,
Oh! Why does the rain come to take me away?
