Diary of an American

there are no stars tonight just
snow clouds, and some light somewhere above
or below
radiates the color rose
the night presses in
closet-like
and freedom seems far off like May
and spring and the love that grew
long ago waving grasses
flowers and summer rain
what if doors could be open
once shut
and clocks could be rewound
how different the world would be
second chances freely given
there would be fewer lonely nights
with hidden stars and rose colored skies
less words of forgetting and regrets
less solitary tears
less living in words and paper
i slowly draw the bow across the strings
and it sings of sorrows there are no words for.