I've been scraping little shavings off my ration of lightposted by Jeanne at 4:28 AM on November 24, 2006
And I've formed it into a ball, and each time I pack a bit more onto it
I make a bowl of my hands and I scoop it from its secret cache
Under a loose board in the floor
And I blow across it and I send it to you
Against those moments when
The darkness blows under your door
Old FriendsI love those songs...
Old Friends
Set on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes
Of the old friends
Old Friends
Winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats
Waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settle like dust
On the shoulders of the old friends
Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy...
Old Friends
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears
(Musical Interlude)
Time it was, and what a time it was
It was a time of innocence
A time of confidences
Long ago it must be,
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you
posted by Pollomacho at 12:22 AM on November 24, 2006