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The Reckoning

In that we were different 
each of us. 
Having stood in different places 
reckoning different things 
coming to separate conclusions. 
We all stood there, 
apart but together. 
Young 
but not so young, 
and we just moved through it. 
Never daring to count the days 
And who can say 
what really happened to us then, 
what we were about. 
Some of us will write it 
or talk about it 
or make films about it 
and there are always the old photos 
color and black and white 
to prove we didn't dream it up. 
But we were younger then 
all coming from different directions. 
waiting volcanoes standing together. 
Slowly spewing ideas. 
We each had or own take 
on what the present days held. 
Our own vision. 
There was no future then 
and the past was only a tool. 
Which we used profoundly 
manipulated expertly 
in melancholy strokes 
like an artist's sweeping brush 
to paint ourselves 
wholly into existence 
as the engaging characters 
we felt compelled to be. 

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