Like mirrors we judge what we know nothing about,
Then dream in past tense of days past when our head was lost in the clouds.
Like broken spokes on a wheel we wobble through tomorrow,
Like bees caught in a trap we buzz to all unfortunate ears of our sorrows.
We stare ahead at the past behind wishing that what is behind should have been ahead,
Yet, like beautiful flowers in a dump, we proudly flourish in our bed.
We all need saviours, even the ones named Judas who will kiss our cheeks while we dream of a Peter Who will deny us before the cock crows.
But in the end we are naught but reflections of our childhood dreams, like harvested corn, Cobless in organised rows.
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