The Eternal

The dreams roll over underneath the tide.

Richness in the morning, our faces reveal the time.

Solstice counters brim their bread foaming for it's kind.

Always glass half empty the rug always moves from underneath us, as we try again and again.

The moving parts but not the whole always in flux, as the sun never forgets to shine. 

Carved out pumpkins line the driveway as we laugh and sing earlier every night. 

Roll through the row of personalities, numbered for the times again we try.

Our heights we have made to the tops of mountains, and the painful ways we have fallen, and afraid to even try.

Props as people, embalmed, entreated, and stashed away prim, and proper to the nines. 

Always cut, and paste, save, and edit the details of our lives. 

Sutures loosen, buckle, and free us for days now endless, and promise not selfish.

We tug at the fields so flawless, gold, and signaling the full circles now unending.

Folding as freedom carries us on by.