Glorious

The glory of the nineties, the end of the century brought home tulips in white. Electricity was the color of the sun. The oldest living city breathing air and fresh energy into my soul. That night I cried 72.8% water, the curtains looked grey. I thought it was the ascent of man, the dawn of the species. How wrong I was. How right she was. The fall looked like a flash in the sky. The centenary of fireworks. An indication of the end, the downfall. The purpose defeated, the moment gone. Now the moment sits in the real stance. If only I could predict tragedy. The birth and death of the last first one. The last man standing wearing a clone's hat standing in disruption mode. The awe and the wonder of the hands in my pocket, all I wanted was to try to stay and build placards that read "what if?".