The interchange

I’ve been sitting by the interchange, waiting for my mind to frame

all the dusty photos of my past:

Of the countless empty buildings that never heard the sound of singing,

and only sheltered little men made of glass:

Of schoolyards filled with silence and imaginary admirers

who lined up just hear me say my name,

and of cold, frosty mornings spent listening to the moaning

of people who would never last the day.

I’m still sitting by the interchange, waiting for a face that came

to wake me from the depths of my sleep:

With eyes that shone bright and guided me through the night

to climb mountains that always seemed to steep:

With fiery red hair that lead me from my lair

and took me back to the world I once knew,

and that smiled at me to say “go out and seize the day,

and let them see what it means to be you.”

And so I walk from the interchange, guided by the light that came

and conquered the darkness that I saw,

and I look to my side and see the face that once came to me,

and smile as I head down the road.

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