Passing breeze through the window,
smells of chilled spring.
Backed away in some corner, faded light comes in streams through the shades.
The past has left the floorboards cracked, but I can't help but feel alright.
It's becoming that time again. Once again,
Hopefulness will trump my doubt.
Let none linger in the few spots where the sun doesn't shine.
On this breeze clings memories of past springs, floating wildly through the trees.
Leafs leave on a whim.
Airborne in the flowing currents,
mind full of half thought ideas and sensory hopes.
Too much changed.
Too much has changed for things to remain the same.
Join in with the leafs and let your thoughts go ahead of you,
cascading down the breeze.
Leave as if you're leaving it all behind.
Because it's been too long since I've felt at home,
so I know this place isn't it.
For the wind may carry you past the juvenile night.
You may forget, but you will never feel whole.
Take the ride until it ends, see where it takes you,
but you will never see home again.
You pass the rolls of mountains, reaching sky.
Passed expansive valleys, scarred valleys,
left to bake when the glaciers went away.
Time eats all.
But not the wind.
Against this back wall.
Echoes of fire lit caves still haunt my brain.
We will find our way across this forgotten plane we are bound too.
Scavenge the sun in every room,
hide from the dark.
Send the timid souls back to their God.
Make them regurgitate dormancy and worship order.
Bask in the great wage slavery, it's all you have to choose.
Breeze slips in, brings down with it the chill of the mountains.
Speaking the rustic Earth language lost to us in our shifting, isolated miasma.
Spend the days like wasted dollars, and throw your mind to the spring breeze.
Float away, some other place.