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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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