Inside the Carousel

Inside the Carousel

We sat inside the Carousel
under the drunken crescent moon.
While older riders spun and sulked
over their wine and divorcees.

Haunting sounds of the piano
remind us what we've found at last.
I could have heard it 20 times,
but Mr. Jackson had disappeared.

Of all the lives that could have been
cultivated along this ride.
Have they become dreams lost in time
as the carousel turns around?

This I thought as we stepped outside,
arm in arm as we swaggered home.
Living our lives at this moment,
never knowing where we may spin.