Thursday

On and off the cinders burn
With the fading heat of youth
And the sun slips below the treeline
Just out of view
Back and forth across the sky
The stars are hanging from a wire
Machine guns still firing in the corners of our eyes
But in the light of day we'll disappear
Just like little sparks against the sun
No one remembers where they begin
Or where we end
In and out the days escape the damages of dawn
Still our dreams lie in broken pieces resting on the lawn