Walking (1)

Walking down the street, there's so much here I'd like to meet,
but I've gotta be somewhere.
I can hardly see, what they could ever want of me, but I've gotta be something.
They said it'd be this way, I swear we'll find another way,
hold them at bay, for today.
We push and pull to gray, find some message in the way, the fire and the clay, link and spray.
If you could think of me, then please do it carefully, so much is lost in translation.
I know we'll be okay, no matter how hard the world will sway, meet me again at the station.
The tears form at the edge, thistle prickers dancing on the ledge, the world starts to tilt, my insides wilt.
And once the rain streams down, we're safely off fleeing west of town, my fingers flex and clench, hop off the bench.
The fog perfumes my mood, as I sit here silently to brood, juxtaposing propositions.
I'll always believe in you, no matter the mess we will fight through, conflicting intuitions.
On wafting dinner depend, I swear it's just around the bend, waiting in succulent repose.
Hum a tune to pass the time, watch our past and present intertwine, a mirror balanced nose to nose.
Walking down the street, there's so much here I'd like to meet,
but I've gotta be somewhere.