Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Vera Lynn, and all the rest.

"So, so you think you can, tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war, for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here."

- Pink Floyd (Wish you were here)

Let's talk about the blue sky.
The cotton clouds, and the golden streets.
I tasted sepia last night, and this morning.
It was lovely, albeit bittersweet.
That was expected.
I'll walk in the shade, for now.
I can still see the sun from under this tree.
I know it's there.
Let's forget I ever mentioned this.
Streetlight candles and neon needles.
Airports baby, airports.


© Luke Daniel

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