The Gates

A short poem about the future.

Drag it on
the dull current puts us to sleep
the gentle shaking
of the ancient bed

Under the blanket of our dreams
we wander in the mist
through the trees and groves
through the eternal forest

Between the lines we walk
greenish haze of joyous living
we live the mystery and madness
we live the crippling pain of breathing

What are we speaking
but our own lost language
we are blind to love and light
we can't hear the giants call

Oblivious to never ending joy
forsaken in the deathly hole
fighting through the web
we manufacture love

The gates call us
they speak our own
whispers in the darkness
whispers in the wind