But we do

we are shaded
left rotting
  like jaded dreams
half forgotten in the moonlight

there is a morning mist
that whispers
like falling ashes on leaves
--souls that drift aimlessly


we are past discovery
past recognition
we are infinite
we are circumscribed
we are no longer absolute


time swirls with scintilating grace
past a face that will never count thirteen
where hands chase eachother ceaselessly
and events move towards a conclusion
you cannot even begin to fathom


we are like trees
swaying endlessly in the wind
caught in a dance
that seems to hold more meaning that we believe
or, even want to believe


but we do


and we hope, fervently
that someone will finally wake us from cynicism
and bitterness, and hate

we are like rotting dreams
shaded, half forgotten
but seen


always somehow seen


N...