Two melodramatics, I called us.
Would think we are children too
young to be born.
Six billion people are one by
Into a deep well, but you and I
For you and I only. Sometimes we
Or forget to acknowledge there’s
more to the quest
Than our own timid ghosts, white
lost in the pale
Of the fog drifts that slowly
roll in from the west.
We take things for granted; when
you’re happy you’ve
Always been happy, when sad hard
You were anything ever but
It will always be cold just
because it is now.
And what is it about us that
makes us deprive
Ourselves of the joy? I
remembered that we’ve
Sat in the dew watching fog
But never sat watching them