There is a waiting in the air,
A summer storm predicted,
The nameless colour of the almost dark –
Ink that will smother us.
All the written words
Will fall on us but not until tomorrow
When the truth will slowly drip:
The drum of angry facts and phrases.
And one by one our friends
Will lose their painted smiles
And sewers will turn into
Nameless dark blue rivers.
And the storm will shake all trees,
Branches, friendships, they won’t stay,
As such is life, when turmoil seas
Give less and take much more away.
But for now the candles burn, all is quiet
That knows nothing, all is waiting innocently
For that water coming down.
For an ancient felt relief.