A Cool Flame
We reach out without a hand.
And then we try to understand.
Why no one shares the time of day.
When we don't take the time to stay.
We keep climbing out of sight.
And watch the day turn into night.
Till what we've lost is all we've gained.
And nothing's left of what's remained.
A work in progress is never done.
It tends to weigh more than a ton.
We wake to find a shadowed past.
That still remains what should have passed.
The wait begins to take it's toll.
We pace the floor down to the sole.
And wonder when the story ends.
As the plot weaves, but never bends.
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