Three years, she said, three years
And now I wait
For some intangible moment to pass
As though the hourglass of fate
Encased the same number of grains
For us all.
Three years of neither here, nor there
But always in between,
Time is a lucid dream, and I choose
To wander the halls of it,
To refuse to wake until I’m called
Into its heart.
Three by three, I’ve come
These eleven strides
And my pride is too strong
To stand aside, to let me dream
A brand new dream;
To let the old dream die.
viewingcamelot 
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