By FS Overly
Oh, please tell me where the nights are young.
Show me where they go to watch the stars,
And throw stones over the empty bridge.
Oh, please show me a place less whispering
These parking lots speak of my old lovers,
And have watched me observe the night.
Thinking of a future that didn’t have me in it,
And dreaming of a place to whom I am a stranger,
Not yet knowing the fragment of me.
But a place where only I know me.
Because these stars have heard my longing,
Tasted my grief, and they are still deciding.
Please tell me where the lovers escape to these days.
Where the cars pass, and decide on the time.
Show me a place that isn’t measured by man.
Show me a place without time.
Show me a place that is devoid of me.
Show me a place that means nothing to me.
F. S. Overly is an American poet, writer, and figment. Author of A Hill Without Trees.