My115thDream

Dave's Mental Meanderings
2004-11-04 10:58:47 (UTC)

Poem - "An Elegy for the Youth of a Dreamer"

When I’m lingering idle and free from the bridles
Of typical obligations,
Which these days is almost too often I think
For a lack of divine instigation,
I dance with a drifter’s dream-like despair
Back to the days that were ours,
With the photos of metaphorical freedom
I while the wee morning hours.
With traces of faceless guilt I go chasing
The faded reflections of heaven,
Allegations and grudges like smoke stains and smudges
On the window of a 7-11.
I gaze upon angels’ virginal visages
Free from the scars I’ve inflicted,
We were running down dreams before ripping up seams
For a future I’d never predicted.
These kings among men set in motion my pen
With the flares of a furious fission,
But alas now the former have scattered to corners
Of my dimming peripheral vision.
The years have now yielded what can never be shielded
From time’s inexorable march,
As statues become of our stoical stands
And bloodstains of glory are starched.
These words, my dear friend, seem to echo your own
That you offered one day to the breeze,
With the powerful ally of time on your side
You set goals so grand with such ease.
Having breathed of the sweet fresh air from on high
But not fashioned a sword from your plow,
The future tense has the power to stir
One’s vaguest notions to vows.
But were not these notions set fast into motion
Time and again through the years?
Did we not take flight to the depths of the night
For what might be made right of our fears?
If I gaze through the years, through the haze and the tears
With exactly the right pair of eyes,
If I sift through the sand of our unfinished plans
For the gems that it tends to disguise,
Though buried and smothered I’ll likely uncover
Handfuls of miracle moments
When two pairs of eyes met in equal surprise
Untold by oracle omens.
Those moments when forces align in their courses
And gone are the doubts and the shame,
Mutual ascension of holistic dimension
And no one involved is the same.
We’ve cut through the gloom while engrossed in the tunes
Of a prophetic poetic free-wheeler,
Ominously sailing in surreal sensation
Past miles of eighteen-wheelers.
We’ve reveled in laughter both during and after
A pilgrimage out of the valley,
The same lyrical sage alive on the stage
From the depths of the Tin Pan Alley.
We’ve tumbled face-first to the unknown and worse
In a holy asphalt chariot,
We’ve been struck down by light of the blessing of night
And still had the strength to carry it.
It’s these moments by which I remember you now
Though our crazy crusades have subsided,
For without you I may not have heeded the call
Of the winds by which I’m now guided.
Go forth and walk tall as you’ve said we all must
As we outgrow our use on the road,
You’ll find glory at hand of a different brand
For those willing to shoulder the load.