Peter Von Poehl Forgotten Garden
By the time he left the city,
through restless streets already lead astray,
a promise faded north-side the bridge;
all these forgotten figures carried in his chest.
He felt the south wind on his shadow,
as the sloping landscape picked up speed.
Following directions logically,
his old familiar voices disagreed.
He kept staring out the window,
past the furrows and the grooves below,
way beyond a keen mind,
and a broken dream that a child had left behind.
He took the small roads after midnight.
A hand above him clearly drew his flight
The sound of changes deviling his soul;
it was clear as daylight that he was nowhere near his goal.
He kept staring out the window,
past the furrows and the grooves below,
way beyond a keen mind
and a broken dream that a child had left behind.
He tied a string around his finger.
Captured by the sidetracks on parade,
he felt an urge to break their constant waves;
in this forgotten garden nothing can be saved.
He kept staring out the window,
past the furrows and the grooves below,
way beyond a keen mind
and a broken dream that a child had left behind.
