Reflect on mute waters
Bringing memories of midnight,
Dispersing in milky swirls,
Pinned down in a dream
Of sometimes strangers
And still familiar sights.
A silhouette endlessly walks barefoot on the sand.
The contour of a face
Projects its shadow on a wall
Bringing memories of moonlight,
Vanishing in purple vapors,
Pinned down in a dream
Of sometimes strangers
And always familiar sights.
A silhouette endlessly walks barefoot on the sand.
The winged horse descends
As its voice sighs,
"Could tomorrow be yesterday?
Or should you just wait for death to come?"
He flies away in a fog of bluish smoke
Leaving behind the strangers and familiar sights.
Those become the nights from which not to wake
As a silhouette endlessly walks barefoot on the sand.
Copyright 2010 Alain Millon
