Awaiting Reality
Through autumn morning's misty pall
like luffing sails on ancient ships
and blinding fog in which we crawl
to moor our hopes in empty slips...
Like luffing sails on ancient ships,
the billows drift just off the coast
much like the hauntings of gray ghosts...
And blinding fog in which we crawl,
a stage where nothing seems quite real,
except the silence that we feel...
To moor our hopes in empty slips,
where only silhouettes remain
~ await reality again...
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