Moonlight drips down the cloak of night while September’s frosty breath dances waltz with the tangles of her black hair. Echos of oak leaves hums the soundtrack of the evening.
Somewhere else an actor in a photograph hides his sad eyes behind dark shades and a plastic grin while he guards a dimly lit room from creeping shadows of days gone past.
Tommorow lies cuddled up sleeping, hid safely away from the troubles of today in a heap bubble gum blankets. He sits, silent on a cold step, the taste of quiet desperation steals the words he’s looking for.
Blades of grass begin swaying to the music humming a familiar tune “cry baby cry, make your mother sigh.Your old enough to know better, so cry baby cry.”
The stars join in and begin to dance in the forests of her eyes. Yesterday loses the fight with today and the band slowly leaves the dream dragging their tubas and violins into bed with them.
He closes his eyes and the dream is over…