Photograph
It wasn’t supposed to end here.
I was supposed to be struck down
On the way to the ancient city
Where headless statues roam.
Tiny hands greeted mine
And we smiled through blind eyes
Standing under a broken clock tower
In search of lost time.
Felt like I’d fallen through the cracks
Of the American dream.
Too early to see the end
And too late to start again.
And that’s when I saw the photograph
Of lightning striking me
While I slept so soundly.
I’m sure that I have been here,
Carved my name into the walls.
I ran my hands across the stone
But I felt nothing at all.
I have existed for a heartbeat
In the blink of an eye.
Too early to see the end
And too late for flashes from the sky.
And that’s when I saw the photograph
Of lightning striking me
While I slept so soundly.
