:: Boy In Corner ::

:: Wednesday, July 30, 2003 ::

Traces in the Sky

There is a blast of air,
Soundwaves shattering eardrums,
Air displacement so powerful walls shake,
People gasp,
And glass panes are blown to shreds,
Hardened crystalline sand dancing on the floor.

The masses don't even notice though.
They don't look up to the heavens,
The night sky set ablaze with magical flames,
And the remnants of a dream fading into obscurity.

But the poets feel the sharp stab of pain in their chests,
The artists hear a strange buzzing in their ears,
The musicians' minds tremble,
And the dancers step out of rhythym.
A dreamer has died.

As life moves on as it usually does,
And everyone grazes about in a ho-hum manner,
A select few mourn the loss of their own,
Then strive to draw more to their own private collective.
And as their eyes fade from the moonlit night
And the hopes and dreams of a young boy fade,
And the magical sense of wonder is nearly lost forever,
A small bit of that dream,
That innocence,
That love,
That hope,
Is captured by a young man standing on a streetcorner who stopped to glance up at the sky.
The little spark of hope fell spiraling out of the bluish forever
And found it's way onto the man's nose.

And as I look up at the sky, I can still see the faint traces in the sky
Woven by the death of a poem;
The ending of a song.
And as I take in that last spark of what was once me,
I vow never to let that spark wither and die.

:: Rick Kitagawa 12:52 AM [+] ::
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