Dreams await on the soft pillow
Ruminations of life and death
So I stay awake, determined
Bring the morning quickly, I pray
Pour the news into a short glass
And give it to me straight
But will it be aged finery
A drink to life and hope
Nice legs standing around the glass?
Or something intoxicating
Simple and strong and escapist
dull the hurt and show the anger
The drive is brief and eternal
People headed into the day
Hurtling toward the future
I circle down into the ground
The metal box has a hollow clunk
In the soundless subterranean
A room of chairs for pairs of people
Magazines of mothers and babies
Hands in lap, eyes ahead, breathe
The name is called, the legs lift up
Floating toward the door
The hall lengthens with every step
Somber tones show a seat right there
Keep breathing and face the future
My future is right now
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Again, nothing profound, but keep up the beauty. I can’t wait to have kids.
Beautiful. Haunting.
(I might just have to start a Mike Stavlund fan site.)