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a ball drops,
and fire kisses the lips of the sky
as lovers kiss on the sidewalk.
It is the hour of dreams
and hopes,
plans and purposes,
love... and its ending.
The rain comes now,
to wash the day's revelry
away.
In the deluge I stand,
renewed, alive,
and oh-so-very-cold
from a longing, and absence
undefined.
The sand is warm,
the ocean pulls at it like
a child pulls its blankets up
when the monsters come.
What becomes of what remains?
I hold the warm sand,
but I can't keep it from
slipping through
my fingers
like a fading dream.
What becomes of what remains?
The sliding sand
seeks its own
and leaves me powerless.
What becomes of what remains?
Of us?
Love is lost in the rubble,
engulfed by flames,
curling in on itself.
It will be reborn another day,
unknown to us,
and if it tarries long enough,
unseen by us.
What becomes of what remains?
A history unlearned from,
a human sea of sadness,
or something far better,
and visible on the horizon?
How close can we come to it
without being burned?
What becomes of what remains?
We decide.
And we depart
And travel on
to find out
the answer.