and the tomorrow
will it be any different ?
a thousand year old
constellation crashing
down after a billion years of spring
will it be coherent ?
when the dust fades
and the smoke travels back
deep within,
will it be transparent ?
the sky and the moon
the sun and the monsoon
the love forever and the gloom
though it's only september
i can see another december
beyond the pines- behind the doom
blossoming, in love with the fall
as i sit and contemplate the dark,
that has engulfed this room,
the kid must die,
and the kid is dead
so kiss him good-bye
before he loses his head
put him to sleep
i know he wants to rest
and dream his life away.
the seed must unfold into
a forest, lest the barren tides
will sweep all away; in ways.
metamorphosis can happen
tomorrow, always.
so, let the kid die;
and the kid is dead.
kid. don't you grow up.