The Future

When the whispers come

I’m by myself in a tent

Listening to the music

From down the hill

My friends sleeping

With themselves

With others

I’m alone

But not for long

Thrice she called for me

By name

I slept and wondered

Who that angel is and will be

Smoking in a Jazz Club

The clinking of glasses

The slow brush of the drum

Sweeping across the snare

Accompanied by a flowing piano

Gently licking up the melody

Followed by a giant double bass

Pouding out a strong heartbeat

 

Her voice, holding heavenly notes

Holding every mans attention

 

I don’t remember how I got here

Or how long I’ve been listening

But I don’t intend to leave if she stays here