Live On In Our Dreams
By Gunslinger
The rain against my window- Is a melancholy sound… My book is growing boring, And the one escape I’ve found- Is take out a pad and pencil- Put on the coffee pot, Then let my mind soar backward To the places I am not. I think of Army barracks- Over thirty years ago… The muggy heat of jungles, Of the mountains capped with snow. Hari Krishna’s chanting- At the airport in LA… While comrades, dear, were dying- More than half a world away. I recall the coffee brewing- On an Arizona morn… Feeding horses, then we’d saddle- Long before the sun was born. The years out on the highway, I knew they could not last. Searching for some Holy Grail And running from my past. Heartbreaks, grief an anger- Were what I left behind- Mere mortals never can compete- With visions of the mind. Loneliness, and aging- I guess go hand in hand. For every dreamer that I know- Wound up a lonely man. Too late to change our courses- No matter how we scheme, So, I suppose our portion, Is to live on in our dreams. Written April 22nd, 2002 © on Apr 22 2002 04:10 AM PST, John R. Yaws 0 • 10
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"The rain against my window-..."