Lonelies

This is the time of night
when wild strands of madness
wrap around the starlit eyes
of wanderers who think
they work for a greater god.

Loving the land for the journey
and stopping to see
what others leave untouched
are what these lonelies do.
Over and over
they stumble across the dregs
of a world which once grew
so rich with life,
the skin of the earth swollen
with rain of every color,
where knees rested on grassy banks
and young hands touched
the swift, mysterious waters
without expecting more
from a place called heaven.

This is the time of night
when the world shows us
who we've become.
Sliding past the hours we've been given,
we continually pray for a summer storm
to clear every path
and to shatter every bolted door.
We hope to forever answer
our own questions, forgetting that
silence
is our only companion.

We are living for all of us,
and that wondrous face
we summon for sweeter tastes
may simply be watching
from his own window, saying,
“Can you not see?
What you have now
is already full of magic,
full of greatness.”

-ajs