#50 THE EMPTY PARADE
#50 THE EMPTY PARADE
(Americana)
At half-past dawn, this lonely fair begins.
Dusty tables set with cracked porcelain.
Sped up by all the sparkle of our stones,
Slowed down by all the rust in our bones.
At just-past noon, the swirl and whirl grows loud.
Where once lurched stragglers now sways a crowd.
Perhaps we'll shout, perchance we'll sing a song.
The revels just started, the day's running long
The empty parade advances,
Catches sunlight, almost dances.
Slowed down by a backward glance,
At all the pomp and circumstance.
At the edge of the revel,
some see tatters as reminder.
Those in the center just
Speak louder, tighten their blinders.
Voices rise to drown the whisper,
Truth grows faint beneath the clamor.
At soon-past dark the faded shindig's done.
It raced through the day, ground down with the sun.
We say we'd planned to dance, we thought to twirl,
Too tired to pull such dreams into this beaten world.
At well-past midnight, debris rustles in the breeze
The party came to revel, the festival to please.
Now unheard whispers, unseen hands to chores,
For soon the great circle will unroll once more.
Now the dark empty parade does not advance,
Frozen stance, bereft of chance.
Let that urge to backward glance,
'Til next light's pomp and circumstance.
We try once more to dance.