Where do you put
these wasted whispers
that could have been said
aloud
these broken promises
that were broke
before
you gave themWhere does all the time go
while you watch the hands
that seem to go on
foreverThese are the days
that no one seems
to remember
to forgetWe are
the universal do-gooders
who forget that good
is subjective
and as such
subject
to tax, tariff
and interpretationWalk with me
hand in hand
under the stars
while they are still ours.