I recall it too well....
the sound of a phone call, still rings in my ears
squeezing my chest.....squeezing my chest...
the sun sinking low, into the west
along with my heart
cold, under a blood-red sky
as we drove into the wedge of dusk
on the edge of our seats
in a frozen state
on that icy slope
I was holding my breath in the liquid silence
engaging in warfare
of knowing, without really knowing
how to hope, ...or what to hope for
but deep down
sensing, the war was over...
my torso was rocking
without my control......forward and backwards
a life of it's own
a balm for raw nerves, I couldn't calm down
something to do, something to do
knowing, but not knowing
be hopeful, or be resigned?
coping? not well
...knowing, but not knowing
yet, somehow fearing
the war was over....
on that night that would change all...
he clung to the wheel......I clung to the seat
we clung to our prayers, but what was done, will be done...
what is gone.....will be gone
as we drove into the wedge of night
watching the moon replace the sun without remorse
we stayed on course, without a word between us said
but a slither of light on the horizon
filling my head with visions of birds on the wing
flying into the clouds
like a sign
as a shroud
taking my eyes
taking my hope
taking the doubt
my own resistance
to what I already knew
what was done....will be done
what is gone....will be gone
losing hope....is losing hope
the war was over...
what is left
we must accept