Hiding Spots

The snow keeps falling,
and everyone in the hotel's quiet.

If we just keep waiting,
the sun will melt the snow to an ocean.
We'll sail along a pearl dress
draped in all our good luck.

All this fleeting is permanent
in a bored, curious universe.
So we wait inside
for its sun to rise.

The strangers faces fade
to old friends and tireless hands
of teenage omniscience.
And all your old plans
to share oblivion one last time.

The sun seeps in.
You dance to the radio.
And all your weary friends have come to rest.

The mountains wade along.
A fountain makes a moat around you
and this kingdom built upon an isle.
A waterfall awaits you.

We fought the current far too long,
and far's not enough for youth.

John Ryan Wells