Underground Ballroom

Strange. That was dramatic Last night we were certain the world was collapsing That we were tumbling through a terrible but glittery kaleidoscope angels hopping from rooftop to rooftop Devils and ghosts curled inside hotel bee hives sleeping in hot feverish honey Everyone declaring eternal love People making promises that they could never possibly keep , not even until the morning ….eternal despair And now look. Morning. I dust myself off, I step into the light and I let the sun warm the places that were cold all night. The bats have turned back into pigeons, conducting their usual business. I can hear the machines coughing themselves to life to make their awful coffee The delivery man is still late, I can tell because Rosh is yelling. The universe, it seems, has survived us The funny thing about youth and its spectacular overreactions Is that you believe every feeling arrives dressed as the final one That Every heartbreak is permanent That every night is the last night on earth. But morning always arrives like a very patient waiter. “another day?” It asks you And somehow, after considering everything you deal with You nod and get back up, to do it all over again anyway. Because what else can you do? And the sun we all stand under has a way of dissolving these things, it rises without judgement or rude remarks. It really does not give a hoot What we swore to each other in the dark last night. And in its gargantuan warmth, its towering light, All of our so called grand tragedies Become small human weather. just passing storms in a teacup. So here we are.. A little older. A little wiser. And slightly embarrassed about the theatrics. But alive. Which, all things considered, is not a bad outcome right? Anyways. Goodbye and goodnight. We were in that room for too long.