The park was empty after the storm
The countess of Monte Cristo
Having passed through
And leaving her charms behind closed doors
Scrapping traces of the life
That was never mine
It seems the wind
Just keeps on blowing
Forcing thee
To strain thy passions through thy tensions
And strain thy senses through thy passions
Leaving only reason
In the collaborative squander of the sacred
In the tedium moment by moment
And just once
All of my love was gone for a lifetime
The old haunts vested me
On a starless night
And I could hear the music
Before it began
Or before it became audible
This humid darkness
Drags out the ocean
From the tired souls
Bored of their youth
As Brooklyn drags the rhythm
Out of young world impressions
While in the old
Their queens dance in sunshowers
Searching for the ends of the rainbows
In their neverending minds
And I’ve walked on many a cliff’s edge
And so maybe we could just
Take a walk in the park
That was empty after the storm
The squander of the film of the sacred
Gently rustling in the coming of dusk
A twilit hymnJason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com
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