From here I see tomorrow,
and, behind me, yesterday;
in front of me, ten years,
and it’s not too far away.
There are only people here.
They come to me and say,
“Hello friend,” and, “How are you?”
Then they fade away.
There are only days and nights,
memories and things.
People sitting on their hands,
tight holding to their dreams.
They watch the carousel going by,
blurry faces wondering why—
distorted, twisted, smiling faces,
through rain and pain and snow.
in the garden dreams of paradise,
and hope they get to go.