Where the road crosses
and
paths overlap; Where
daggers sharpen and intertwine,
there the standard
answers will reply,
"I'll be there.
Look for me,
I'll be there."

Walking and living, they have
been done.
People walk in the door,
others leave by the window.
Some voices have been heard,
others forgotten.
Sunset or sunrise, neither really
matters.
Water pours into a tub.
Sins and lies neglected
by the washing.
"We really like the same
sort of ice cream",
I think as thinking becomes
yet one more surprise.

And so we can stop fabricating
excuses for not being nice
to one another.
Instead pick the thread
that promises
compromises.
"Be of good cheer!" the
mumbling metal monsters
mutter as they wink with
open eye.

"I'll be there.
Look for me,
I'll be there."

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