Wheel of Smoke and Stars
Wheel of Smoke and Stars
I'm caught in the wheel of a life that no longer remembers my name,
and for ages I've cried to a sky that's forgotten the sound of prayer.
Someone, get me down from this carousel of smoke and mirrors,
from the blind whirl grinding the lights to dust of old, worn dreams.
For years I begged to feel nothing at all, like a well run dry,
and if I had to feel, let it be only in passing, like a wind,
as if I were running through the pages of a book sealed in wax,
forgetting, before the final page, the one phrase that still mattered.
But now I live on the edge of tomorrow while still inside today,
I sneeze long before I smell the flower just beginning to open,
I cry in pain before the mirror shatters into a thousand waters,
and I say goodbye to people I have never yet met at all.
Get me down from this wheel, from this endless coming and going.
Who stole my sense of wonder, along with the worries I prayed away,
my attachment to all that passes, my faith in all that fades?
Who took my excitement and left it, like a coin, on the roadside,
to whom did they give my contentment, to whom my lost devotion?
I'm just saying it would be nice to read a book and not see its end
already in the first line, like a spell broken before it's spoken —
even while I'm still bound to this old and silent wheel,
even while I'm still devoted, for no reason, to this endless carousel.
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