The Third Man Is New

I promise I will be there.
Words with empty meaning, words screaming through the halls of my mind as they make their course.
I know he lies.
I know I won't see him until the echo is heard, until the message smacks the back of the wall. Not the wall of innocence though.
Can one echo pass through two circles at once?
I wait. No answer.
The doorbell rings but no-one can hear above all this noise.

Not but smiles and scraped knees when we first met
“you’ve been in the wars” my mum would say.
The war was the best part.
Late. But time does not matter, time is on your wrist is all.
Hope. Chance. Fresh faces.
Another child sprung from your passion, another knee scraped smile.
The race begins but I was always taller, always faster.
Every half a moon we would meet that child and I.
The white box is flying with the butterflies and pink wings now.

That’s when the screaming started. It was only a whisper then.
Two worlds colliding in one body, the mind won’t cope. It can’t cope.
Can one echo pass through two circles at once?
Hope becomes fear, chance is unwanted and fresh faces turn sour
Now that the third man is new.

My scraped knees and smile are aging.
The war is ending. The war was the worst part.
My legs are stronger and hiding beneath the flowing material
my mouth is slower to turn, it is wiser, more hesitant.
There are flashing lights and a man who wants to be flying.
I won't let him soar with me, nor with the other knee scraped smile who’s mouth is also changing. The sky is still ours.

The white box was emptied that night
Split in three, or four.
I promise I will be there. Is it the third man who speaks?
I wait.
No answer.