the wind whispers secrets not meant to be heard the kind that spiral and twist around the soul like a forgotten waltz the moon watches but says nothing it never comments on the paths we take it's a silent guardian with silvered eyes
in the distance, an empty streetcar clatters past an echo from a dream clinging to the twilight hours it pauses but there's no one aboard just me standing dry rain refusing to weepon solemnity somehow fetching it's own contraption of rhymes
watch along watch the horizon watch how it bends like a douglas fir in a storm the sweet ache of yearning unseen roads ahead there's a truth in the shadows or perhaps it just likes to pretend it's harder than it seems