I listened to the wind chimes.
They tugged a sad song
From the vault in my mind.
A sweetly strange clutter
Of metallic noise—
From a young stranger dreaming
Of who I’m meant to be.
Feeling far and removed
From the eyes that we share.
And all I can hope
Is that I’m someone worth
The sprouting daydreams.
A faded ghost
As old as the chimes in the tree,
Still strongly rooted and I think
I may have done okay.