We"

we too chased the silver lacquer
of our lacy clouds that flitted far away
and over plain and mountain,
taking root in some foreign state
where we, for two seconds, eyed our genuine selves
and were so repulsed by that vision
that we slipped out and stole away.
and now we pace these somber highways
with headfulls of utterance and remorse.
and we still get teary eyed when we hear those
old sentimental songs that held meaning once:
something traceable and sublime.
still sifting through pictures of antiquity
when we believed so wholeheartedly once
that there was truth and dreams were like poured concrete.
now, not two years later, i stifle constant renderings of what once was
and head for the hills of humility
believing full-well that the world isn't dead.
and yet here, in this blackened bedroom
in this unbearable midwest where march is cold
but bereft of snow.
here i open up safes of memory
and wish for better tomorrows in hushed tones
that in the end, i guess, mean nothing.