And we talk about it

We paint our picture,
In a sad color gray,
On all our brain-shaped vases,
And on all our vase-shaped eyes.

I never saw that floating face,
Leaving, intransigent and dull.

Was it what we asked for,
Or was it how we asked?

Strange I always thought I wasn't fazed.
But looking back at those remarks,
At days long gone and watered down,
It's a tall cloud I never climbed.

Don't turn back the arms,
On that rusty old clock,
For you might break time
And call it even.  
05-16-07