Fake 19th-Century Lines
These lies that fly as time goes by
Leave like lines that cross the sky
From passing planes that don't look down
Or notice people on the ground.
These words that wait as willows bend
Grow like groans at echo's end
And everything we've said and done
Sleeps in a cave while we are young,
Where walls are wet and rocks are cold
But blooms again when we are old.
I see you now, you hear me lie,
We're only words writ on the sky
That soon the wind must blow away
To mist and scraps of yesterday.