Walking down streets and empty harbors of the city;
I look for an answer; one is nowhere to be found.
A sound reaches from behind broken storefront windows
a sound that echoes in the emptiness:
“Hello,”—a voice soft and gentle.
“Hello, what are you doing here?”
But, I have searched through tome and printed page
to find the answer to that question; I found nothing but despair.
While words fell like curtains from the page in candlelight,
I’ve found nothing to guide me.
And I have tried to catch the rainbow in my hand;
for a pot of gold— knowledge more than riches.
A barren dream is what I earned—
a cauldron full of wishes—a worthless treasure chest of emptiness.
(A dove flew past my window in the morning.
It cooed a song, a soft ‘hello’.)
And tho’ I felt the sun warm roses yellow on the bough
in the distance I heard thunder.
The dove became a hawk;
and the thunder tolled (and answers hadn’t found me);
I saw a searing wind that burned the leaves off every thing,
and left nothing.