Our slowly passing days like so many dogeared pages Stained with tea and tears from yesteryears, Watermarked and worn with endless strain. And I can imagine an ocean of water for miles hanging above my head. And I can imagine the vultures gathering down at the foot of my bed. I can imagine the sky a golden crimson red. But I'd rather not imagine how this ends. I find that my mind always stray To the numerous potential ways that we could break Beneath the weight of so many aching, lengthy days. And I can imagine whole scrolls of words going unwritten or unsaid. And I can imagine a patch of earth eventually replacing my bed. I can imagine the sky a golden crimson red. But I'd rather not imagine how this ends. I find that most of the time I'm fine if I imagine you instead.