She's waiting on the dock
Placing her feet in the slowly receding waters of memory
As she watches them:
The dusky, rained on, tearstained banshee
and the other,
together, like they had been slowly promising against the windswept skies of presents and futures
Yet the memory's waters against her feet seem to be leaving with the tide
And the banshee is no longer hers to own
He seems to belong to another, a demon, a darter from leftovers
a complete fake
And now she's left here, staring into the ocean of loss and strife
as the ghost stalks in the shadows.
Maybe she should have stayed with Hello and Get Up,
Yorick the Skull,
Or even the dust bound book which had been touched by so many hands
Forget about that damned Banshee, who only lead to the thorns and caverns
But it's hard to forget
since the waters are threatening to drown or desert
But once again, she'd thought she had those grains of sand
knew she had them
was sure she had them
but suddenly, unknowingly, they were gone
back into the ocean to maybe become a pearl.
But that pearl could very well be crushed beneath limbs of strangled beings.
And there they are
Banshee and demon
breaking for the bus stop
catching their reflection in the windows
and leaving her again.
Is the grass really that much greener on the other side?