What passes

If this is what passes for life,
what dreams may come,
I want to wake (if what
passes before my
eyes passes before Your eyes
too) in this place again and 

again, wearing the past,  
brown to gray, 
entwined with what lies a 
head, though the mind sometimes
gets a head of me. 

The morning has brought the sun
and the road ahead is sure
to be paved with dreams where you
star,

the center of all.
Let it be sunny
(not so bright that it obscures
what is clearly yours
but)

enough so I can look at you
with squinted eyes
while my knees shake under the weight
of a world of memories
never really past.

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