It’s for the old reason I write this poem—
to save the day from lonely ruin;
I want to remember the good times spent—
dream of tomorrows and where they went;
I love the sunshine, the stars shine brighter
when the rain cleans the sky of doubt;
I used to think all green things, money
to diamond rings would piece the peace together.
I used to think I could cloud the sky with stormy weather.
I used to know a guy who left the dream to others,
cried at night for things unsaid, dreams unrealized,
when it was true: If I had been looking up instead of down
I’d see the rainbow; another swept sky, stars shining bright.
There’s always a chance before the light.