Her smile constant and genuine
As the sun.  Declared delight in
Being here just in being here.  
To be seen for this moment by
This most appreciative audience
Who seeing how lovely she is
Look happily on their child in
Fascination that such joyfulness
Should exist so unaware and so
Unaffected by the weary, sordid
World for our sake to be here.

Oh such a pompous ruckus
Would not silence be better?
Sour grapes you say; maybe so
But A little quiet is all I ask.
A little wine?  well maybe just
A little.    How was it?  Good.
Maybe just a little more.  Now?
Good .  So no sour grapes?  I
Say sour grapes be ******. This
Is wine.  Let me have some more.
Good stuff this.  I think now I can
Hear  His song...His  Truth is Marching
On and i hear my soul Going with Him
And I will listen until ... stillness speaks
His  name...for there is no other I hear
And I shall make a joyful noise unto Him
Wherefore Now I am singing His Song
Is it not for His Glory that I am strong
I can hear I will Hear  I can sing I will
Sing a song that has no end to my Love

For Old  41. and the People of Navisota
who saw him pass on the train 12.6.2018

a place of refuge that you have
because you suffered until you
like water made a cave to be in
until you at last found release
then learned that all your
treasures were your pain
taken up to the Heaven
where things that are no
longer remain in that blessed
place unchanged and you
can come upon them again
When your God calls you
Home

To live is first to know
Not to be known
What is it to be read
Even famous long ago
After you are gone-It
Is not Immortality.

Rather let us endeavor
To know and ever to know
Call it self love but who
Can love another who is
Not alive-If we have any
Community the We begins
With I.  Be fierce to live. It
Is your country even if alone
Then if you sleep you will
Rise from every dream even
Death- as Christ did Knowing
He was still in His Fatherland

The last regret of unhappiness is that one is
Leaving that most familiar place that you
Gave your best to and failed, a first love and
You know you cannot go home again-last and
Enduring when all else is forgotten a thought
Of former times still dear not of this world are
Treasures stored in Heaven.  At the Zenith of
Life and knowing it you will have the same
Sorrow for a time and place that will never be
Again.  For you have  returned to that home
Of your youth that like all things sublime
Cannot be remembered to which you have
Returned and will return again and again till
All unknowing your journey takes you home
Forever and forever Love dying is being lost
Moment my moment Love is being reborn.
Now is a time like all times and we fellow-
Travelers are learners knowing these are the
Best and worst of times, a time like all times
We are coming to going from Love-Home

Days
When you cannot find a friend
half is= make do as one but  it is
Not the same nor am I.  It is not
That you have tested the  tensile
Strength and now know the breaking
Point but that once our hearts danced
In the sun and  considered it not.
I remember the day I asked my father
How it was he had so many friends?  
Said it was not so that in life one has
Only a few.





Much  water has passed under the
Bridge since that day.
Unsaid was  that I like him would
Know and honor times long gone
I  gave more to the few I knew then
Than the many who came after. Still
Under the bridge the waters flows.  A
Reminder that there is an equality to
Now and then but also a difference too  
Not soon  to be forgotten but live on.
These are the days of our youth when
We had few friends and knew no better


For Ray





s

e

Was it loved denied or love expressed?
I sent you away whom I loved.  I acted.
Perhaps had I waited but I didn't.  Acted
When I did not know.   And now like a
Musical note resonating Still I do not know
Was it for the best.  It was not some trivial
Matter  but a question about love.  What it
Is?  Whether it was in me guiding me? Or
Was I a selfish fool traveling a long lonely
Road  never to know which way love is
Unto silence the tone fades and then it is
Reborn. Without a Knowing: how repent?

As the North posits the South  look Away
Look Away Dixie Land where the past has not
Even passed  Aye there is a Paradox A Paradox the
Molecule from which the Universe is built Look
Away Dixie Land and I shall forget your sins and
You shall rebuild and not know your paradoxes.
Thus speaketh the Lord who is ever merciful


Remembering Casey

That seems obvious enough
But drink deep from the well-
The water sweet and clear tells
Of The goodness of the source
Divine is forgiveness without
Knowing the crime it speaks to
The world  its Innocence. Who
Drinks and knows should drink
Again for the evil is not revealed
It is may be healthy to admit a
Possibility of sin that requires us
To Thirst but not a necessity only
An option-Could be  just a love of the
Living waters from the eternal springs
That bids us drink to drink deep  Can
It be so wrong to be skeptical of evil
Let the good and the truth be one that
The Lord may
Keep His promises
To us
      ------------------------------
Has hating evil never forgetting-
ever made us kinder?
Better there be lies than  lies be true.
(not to say i  am  always wise enough
To know the difference} " Where was I"
He asks me" When  I made the Leviathan?"
That I knew not I said was why I spoke as I did.
s

If I could impart to you
The beauty of the glowing
Grass You would not ask
Me the meaning of the
Universe nor need to.


For Stanley

The wheatt grass girl was like
TheWee people, more spirit than
Woman; less sun than moon-
.  I would like to  catch her but
She would die.  It is better she
Is free and not mine to keep
It is a wane wine that I drink
That she may come near to
Take a sip.  I know she loves
The green tea more than me
But stiill I would like to know
Her better  like the Spring
Before she is gone forever.

Am  i more or less
There is a less that is more
Than I will ever know and
A more that is less than all
i am...So be of Good Cheer
With nothing to fear that will
Not wait till next year that is
Only a thought of  mind walking
Upon a lonely shore thinking of
You again and again. Once more


For Lissa

A moment ago my Father was
Pushing me now I am swinging
By myself.  
The sky is blue.  The earth is
Green.  The sun is some place
Unseen.
I am swinging by myself.

The Unchanging said I am that I am
In that  That He is not redundant,not
Repeating yet unceasing.  No matter
That He is enduring.  As Emily D said:
I am nobody; Are you nobody 2 0 and
1 in a sense there is no other I am but
The One that can declare He is nobody
I am that I am and I am and there is
Naught beside me and that I am also.
I am the sole sun of all that is and that is
Not. I shine in the darkness and the dark
Comprehends me not. Love is all there is

I entered athe land of Chance
(or so it seemed) there to seek
The beauty of the love that i
Everywhere and there  Ifound
Old friends and new So many
Treasures everywhere but all
Fragmented ;friends I'd made
That I could not keep.   So to a
Greater loneliness I woke again
To my defeat (or so it seemed)
By love rejected and so far away
Without chance or,friend to play
As if in a pool I looked down at
Myself and decried the abominable
Wretch I had become only looking
Down on my sorrow ne'r realizing
It  was in the sky above me and the
Forlorn one I rejected was the Christ
Above me that  I rejected.  Disgraced
Beaten and defeated. Yes I am sorry
I admit it for it is God's Truth Too


*I was ignorant therefore I spoke as I did...
From the end of the Book of Job when the
Lord asks him where he was when God created
The Leviathan?  Children forgive me that I spoke
As I did.  I am sorry and ask you to forgive me
Even as the Lord did Job for Love"s sake...

Seems like all my prayers get answered
But it is always in some half baked way
Like God was laughing at me  saying see:
You should have given me more details.
The devils in the details I know but I think
That I should not have to be so Speciific.
You should be able to full out my requests
So as not to make a clown out of me and
Did I mention some things really hurt, still
Do. I have to admit I have learned a lot by
Having to learn to make do with this rough
Draft for the masterpiece I meant iy to be-
Still I wish I could say to you like Job that
I spoke as I did because I knew not and
You would accept that and say I spoke
Truly and that I was really a very good
Fellow and that you were going to give
Me back all that I have lost and more to
Boot.  I do believe  but please keep your
Promise soon because otherwise... I may
Not live long enough to appreciate it

Something that cannot be remembered
Writing for the universal other.  Everyman
Who knows my story is his own.  His story
Is my story.  Spring; Summer; Fall; Winter
When the glory is forgotten only the naked
Idea remains.  Bare branches reaching in to
The sky in dispair of its prayer being heard
Then a solemn quietness comes to the heart
Marking the passing-  Now it is Spring  for the
First time in all its glory the newness that could
Not be remembered but now is forever if it die.

What truly should be  actually Is
If we love one another what is war?
The grand illusion that is  defeated .
For men and nations.It shall  not long

Endure.The greater truth is with us
Even now though still it seems so far
Away. For we ever live more by faith
Than we do  know and walk in the
Light of hope when we cannot see-
Towards and in the mystery of love
It is thus our prayers are answered:
Thy Kingdom Come on Earth as it is in
Heaven  That Thy Will be done,  Then
Shall we say it is now and  was always

There is a story about St. Theresa of
Avila t5hat on her death bed, in great
Anguish she spoke to the Lord saying:
Lord I have given up everything for
You.  All I have left is my faith; then
The Lord answered her saying: Sister
Give up our Faith.  Hard words but
The reward was so much greater and
More wondrous than the sacrifice it
Could not be known.  Even so it the
Same for everyone as for the saint.

for the poet it is his words.  For if
We would see God face to face is
Our dream we must sacrifice the
Dream to have the dream come
True.  in the end to give up our
Labor to experience the glories of
The harvest.  Give up the dream
To make it actual.  This is the all in
All where the destination does not
Lose the Way. The Hope of Love .
Love itself are one in the rapture.
The promises of Spring find their
Fulfillment of Summer.  With each
New season we must have given up
Ita memory.  As an old New England
Woman when asked if she did not get
Bored by the autumn having seen now
Near a hundred times?  Her answer:
It is a glory and cannot be remembered.
Yet as it is revealed it is also resonant.
We must have a dream to have a dream
Come true-So we must forget the dream
To have the dream be realized  God has
Said He Makes All things New.Have we
Carried a treasured burden give it up.
So I lay down these words that they
May be given u pas lost children that
Will be restored to me as in Heaven.

For a while we in a model seem to see
The whole-Then it is a fragment. a piece
Of ancient pottery, a bit of trash on its
Way to the dust from which it came.
Of such is the glory of poetry: A dancing
Girl-An old woman dying.  The bird of
Paradise that never was- the phoenix
Rising from the ashes so that we may
Know all is all.  Infinite is the pathos of
Our gladness no less glorious.  Slow ...
Time is our genius to be .  For a while.

{tale of the mouse famous long ago}

Little me said to big me: You may
Be Big but i am the One who first
Imagined you-you really are but a
Small part of me.  Big me grinned
Like a cheshire cat and said: You,
You imagined me!  Now that is a
Joke.  You aren" worth a purr back
A small bite and showed him his big
Teeth like a king looking at   a cat.
But I was not chagrined but said if
You will please step aside I can open
A tin of your favorite fish, what will it
Be tuna or
salmon what ever you say
He sniffed the air as if uncertain and
I not to be out done said say what you
Will I am your servant but the choice
Is mine to believe what I believe... and
You are my beloved cat,my Jezabel;
And low she purred for little me so the
End came to our meaningless dispute.

Only if you can forget  who you are can
You live forever.  Knowing who you are
Is to know your inevitable mortality.So
Would you rather live forever or know
Who you are?  There is no easy answer
Who has not asked to live a little longer.
But it says in scripture: There shall be no re-
membrance of things past- (or yet to come)  
To let go of all you have known and love!
Out out brief candle- dying forever is  not a
Life as we would like it.  We say Jesus lives
Is he among us and does  He know He will
Be crucified or is He yet an immortal unknown
Perhaps a Christmas baby born to a stranger on
on this day like we all  once were? To Life; To...-

With a nod to Mark Twain who gave us "The Mysterious
Stranger"and a wonderful life.

In another room next to mine
Tap tap tap tap tap tap and
Back again in a pitter patter
Rhythm on the floor I can hear
Her life  She is bright vibrant
Emphatic all alone-I know her
Spirit.  She is what has right
To be in my blood.  She is in
The room next to mine.  Soon
I will go to her.  She will teach
Me there once again what it is
To be a child to play again in
The  ellyisian fields of forever.


For Lysa remembering Santa Cruz

It is the poets objective to make
The longest waits short; to sum up
History; the whole from its ending
To its beginning, distilling the truth
In its essence and to leave the  chaff
To fall away  So we can get on with it
Let the glory be, to go on and on. On earth
As it is in heaven  Praise and Joy without
End,  It is the least we can do for whom the
Bell tolls that we may tell God we know.
Know
That It is now Now that you are with us.

Come
my little dreamer friend
I love you.  Do not let me
Dream alone.  Let us play
In the pleasant land and
Know all the joyful hours
that are ours.  Then let
Sleep come and take us
Weary to our bed till full
Of rest  we wake to dream
Again of our never ending
Love

There is hidden charity.
Where?
Where you think there is none.
Why it is here you mean?

Just so.
But if it is so Why is there so
Much sorrow?
Blessed are the poor...
Ha how can that be; if it
Were so all would wish to be
Poor.
It is great mystery is it not?
He said: My burden is lite
Unpack your goods it is
Almost Summer.  Let us
Rest beneath that tree.
See it labors not, has not
Nor wants more yet how
Great it grows.

My arms hung limply at my side  until I sensed a heavy
Weight as  in my either hand denying me the right to raise
Them up.  Then it was that my will came to me and with
That other will against me I put my hands up.whether it was
In praise or surrender, one or both I do not know myself.

But it was by that odd gesture that my life was saved.


For Sue

Once there was a garden It is
Still there very near here We
Can smell its fragrance sometimes
Of honey suckle  mixed with roses as it
Comes to us upon the summer breezes
But without innocence we cannot
Enter in    Romulus and Remus suckled
Upon the she wolf teats They were babes
Knew no better than  that she was kind to
Them  Are they not our brothers too in the
Long ago when we  too dwelled there in
Were naked and  unafraid  A parable is
A metaphor to dress the truth and make it
More acceptable to some ears than what
Simple innocence  would make clear.  It
Will be with tears that we douse the fiery
Cherubs "s flames that guard the gates of
Paradise where once we walked naked and
Unashamed and knew then the purest face
Of love that we would ever know the gift
that was our beginning  to be as God  made
Us as He makes us even now dressed only in
Our Innocence that no apple comes between
That I knew not the truth I spoke not the truth
With tears of sorrow and joy I know He has
Opened the gates as if they were never there
Is this not my Father  the Father that I love

I ask where is my wonder I wonder
The greatest riddle there is If truly
Asked is always found; the search
For meaning, the reason for the
Quest is to know the wonder of
Wondering, the wonder of it all
To wonder peacefully, tirelessly
To know then the peace that is
Beyond understanding of such
Is Heaven and it can be known  
Here on earth in a child's eyes.

When the whispering pipes are heard
oft we  remember as if in a dream the
deeds of derring do otherwise known as
treason, and treachery punishable still by
death and shame were they known and-
done now.  Was it courage, youthful folly
or the grants of intoxicants that gave us a
victory that is but survival when we should
have perished with our now stateless friends
Have we been forgiven?  Have we  repented
who can still remember the liberties we took
the passion we felt still feel in the south of our
souls where history is not over; is not even past
Oh Father forgive us.  Grant us peace that we
May remember and still laugh without shame
to be among the fallen for love's sake the times
This time of our togetherness and remembrance

I tried and tried to make my
Children understand-make my
Self clear but still they did not
Understand  They were on info-
Overload and I was too old to
Understand- so much on them.
Made me a little crazy mostly
Protest and just to be let alone-
A reaction to the way they said
The world is -so must be obeyed.  

Doctors  were called in and I was
Diagrosed: Early onset senescence
Senility.  Now no one is to blame
Everything is still the same- but  is
Just a mystery and cannot be cured

That we no longer love enough or the
Time to give  to the old folks at home
Never wanted to be a burden anyway
Plenty of immigrants glad to do it.
The children thank the care givers hold
Them to the standard of the holy good
Course its not so but makes them feel
Better about themselves.  We are all vested
In our delusions.  Have you heard the one
About hell being filled with execrem,ment and
There is a hmingm sound but when yout close
Enough you will hear the words: No waves...
Please do not make waves were in this stuff
Up tp our chins and you must not make waves.

Oh My Love
Won't you come back
I have been possessed
By your absence
I am tired of trying
Tired of Crying
It does no good
Still I cannot see you
Be with you.  Cannot
Forget your absence
It was all I had left
Could not let it go
Though I knew it
Was not you. No
It is not not you I seek
Leave me.  Go! You
Are not my people
I set you Free.  Oh
Hosea Let me tell
My People I have
Not forgotten you
In that place where
You said: You are
Not my people  There!
You became my people.
Praise be to the God of
Abraham who's son was
At the last moment was
Not sacrificed but saved
Your Love that seemed
Not to be but still was

When all history comes and goes
In the blink of an eye all is unknow
Able.  From dream to dream with
out beginning or end, and all would
Be well but the mad men who tell
Us what is and is not positing more
And more complexity proclaiming all
The while they are the saviors of
Mankind.  It is a great burden, a
Travesty of truth; unbelievably
Cunning.  So the dream ends in
A crucifixion.  Love is dead.  God
Is no more.  On the bright side
Thank God it is finished and you
Return with  no remembrance of
Things past to make you smarter.

Was the memory of the word before it was written; or was the word in the memory or the memory in the word.  There are ragged wholes in the memories of the old.  People gone; landscapes and places, entire epochs gone.      Not neatly subtracted but torn out, rent out large moth holes chewed out.  It is this irregularity that makes them poignant.  They cross the regular boundaries like pages ripped and irregular across the measured grid; and we are like  ancient wanderer mendicants are dressed in holey beggars garments from all the countries of the heart still homeward bound, clowns of time becoming the naked memory of that which was  was before the world.

A man may do wrong and think
He is right; but in the crucible he
Learns otherwise.  He may do evil
Knowing he is evil but in the trying
Of the crucible he learns otherwise.
There is a truth beneath even the
ost grime ridden soul that none can
See that even wisdom knows not.
For we are players who are not what
We seem even to ourselves but in the
Crucible there is a way that may save
Even the most godless soul who never
Learned His Grace.  For none no not
One is good but all do play and it is
the child that catches the conscience
Of the King who understands what
We must learn that we are but poor
Players who are yet worth His love.

All unconscious in our time
We loved what we knew not
Love is love and in its fullness
Knows not itself for that we need
Art and memory but in our time
All we had was the moment and
If we only knew how precious it
Was we could not have loved it
More; we would have loved it less
That  is what makes it so poignant.
We pass thru time in a sleep.  We
Do not see its passing until it is no
Longer but is changed into another
Time. Our time is particular and a
Peculiar dream.  Quaint our lives
Now seem. The music, the town.
The neighborhood. the people we
Knew. the people we were.  We pass
into another  time unaware.  Remember
The penny candy store. An old man. the
Single glass counter in one small room
In an old wooden building all long gone
Seems like only yesterday I used to stop
In there on the way home from elementary
School but it was long ago and all is changed
Now is a mystery and we still love it more
Than we can ever know in the magic moment.
Those Amber times seen thru the dusty glass

Cry with me a little my friend for times gone
You were innocent then and did not know it
And   will be again when  you wake from this
Long dream  it will be true that it too was loved
By you and  that you too were loved. in the gold
Of His memory  Held  in the psalms of His hands

"And ever has it been that love knows not its own
depth until the hour of separation,"  Kahlil Gibran
The Prophet

"You paved paradise and put up a parking lot
You don't know what you've got till its gone..."
Joni Mitchell Blue Album

Love some one as you once
Loved me.  You cannot- of
Your first love I speak but if
You do you will be young
Again and I too shall also be as
One transformed-all in the blink
Of an eye.  Come my love
Do not mock me as I am now
Re make me and this old world
Say you love me as I love you
If far we have traveled from then
Has as not pain the measure been
Of moments  that are half dark as
Planet turns  and turns till it must
Return.  So long long time goes by
But still youth's memory holds us
Fast in a darkness but half lit by the
Hope of joy- till the circle closes and
When its done it will seem a dream
That was never meant to be- gone
Without remembrance gone in the
Twinkling  of an eye when you say
I love you as you love me and love
Unchanged makes all things new.

For Liss My Beloved

Much of the Truth which we disavow
About ourselves is what is best in us and
In the world.  The hater is the lover at
War with himself in the world of grand
Illusion that seems oh so real if only possibly
So. What can we know of this fierce man
Full of sound and fury executing pretend
Acts-Is he not surrounded by his troupe
Of other pretenders validating his cause?
It seems we have yet to hear God's word
Even His command to Love one Another
Though it has been spoken from eternity
To love one another- it seems a bridge too
Far;  A gift too great-Yet we are already
Unknowingly there separated by only
The knowing.  It is but a thought of mind
Nothing but a thought of mind that of the
Always and forever the everlasting truth.
Yet who of does not say Lord come quickly
Come quickly Lord for we are now ready.

When I was President ...
President of my time with you, I of
The neighborhood boy's club; and
You though I did not know you so
Well then were president of the
Neighborhood girls club.  Say it's
Not so but it's true none the less
It was you who thought the same
As I did way back when we were
All so young my friends. But there
Was no club; No president.  You can
Call me a liar and you be the same
I still think it was better back then an
When there was no club or president
And we were all just boys and girls
When yet we could all be president
Though only so by our heart's  intent

My spirit ascending higher and Higher
Till knowing there is no death hilariously
Knowing an ecstacy far above sorrow No
Reason to cry. My soul on a rope of light
Lifting Me above myself to the happiness
Of knowing -  Knowing  with certainty that
This was the Truth That to laugh was to
Leave this mourning earth for heaven
Laughter was invitation-an irresistible
Invitation   I would leave none behind

It was a wonderful conceit  It seemed so
Invincible till I heard you cry.  You did
Not stop but kept on crying.  I knew then
That you did not understand and did not
Want me to leave you to go where you
Could not go.  My fantasy deflated in the
Knowledge that it was but a dream .  To
Leave you beloved child I could never
Do.  I said do not cry Love where you are
I will be.  I will not leave you not ever.

You are gone now for so long and do not
Remember or cannot care.  Now it is I who
Cry and cry that you have left me.  I go on
A slow march to the grave that knows no
Laughter to easy the pain.  Alone. Are you
Now laughing some place and cannot hear
Me cry saying over and over: Do not leave me
Hear my crying .  Say you love me before I die.

Fickle as all pssions are

We must descend there-
From to live.  Here in the
Valley  of the  Shadow
We pass our uncertain days
Regaling our selves with the
Remembrance of derring do
Of forrner times but for all our
Boasting would not returm
Except there were an Everest
Of enduring passion that could
Survive.  Such is the quest of old
Age to know Love that  alters not
Nor need we ever depart from

Having loved thru the darkest night
Loved the night and even then knew
The Star of a love that over came to
Believe and know you would return
I loved you all in all.  Whole  you are
All your parts I adore the more not to
Reject anyone Love abides and is One.

For the one who has guessed I do not know
Know who I am   Who am I.He asks me and
Reads into my writing the answer-Discovers
The Truth that is found only by the One
The One that knows not the answer to the
Question :Who Am I.  May we be alike

Whats to say that all the familiar memories
Of a long time ago and of just yesterday are
Not made up whole just a waking moment
Ago.  Who is to say the lone dreamer asks
Himself what is the truth.  As it seems to
me a great man once said: The dream marks
Were always there to see.  All the noise and
All the news; the cruel history of man to
Man; Forget thee not the holocaust; there
Is no God; and lies abound.  What is to be
Done?  To dream a better dream the great
Man said,said he was alone. Who's words
Are these is it you or I who is the stranger
Who is that man you ask.  It is the lone
Dreamer-Hi ** Silver and Blue and To
All a Good night.  He rides ever onward
Till Love be made perfect in the Kingdom
To come beyond this world to life ever
Lasting be it only his own; but
He will
Yet dream a better  dream for us all
Where we love Him as He loved us.

Neither do I know when all approve
Nor when they condemn.  If the
Horn is in me my agony exclaims
My innocense.  But others then are
quick to ask: Then Is your God Un-
Just?   If I am wrong what is there
To say but that I did not know and
spoke while yet in ignorance.

Sin and merit are hidden from my
Eyes  If I err then upon His mercyI
I must rely.  If good comes to meI
Shall I think that it is just?  No
I shall think it is grace and that
My God is; and yet I may see
His face  another day.  God
Approve when what is vain is
Stripped away that the gift be
Freely given, joy be unfeigned
Truth and innocense can be
Reconsiled by the gift  of love

After an uncertain amount of time
He woke.  It was  bitter realizing
He had died.  He knew he had not
Been a particularly good man nor
Bad.  He could not appeal his fate
To a higher power but still was it
His fate to be alive imprisoned in a
Coffin?. For who could tell how
Long? -it just did not seem right
Indeed it was unacceptable to
Him personally -to confront it
Head on was insupportable
His mind began to wander
Hither and wither  only to
Return to the gravity of
His situation after many short
Dalliances  with relatively
Pleasanter thoughts--bit
By bit like a Pavlovian dog
He returned less and less
At some point in his day
Dreaming he drifted off
To sleep thence to a dream
In it He was alive in a far
Land; a stranger it was  not
Without its fascination but
He keenly felt weighty
Sense of being alone and
Wondered at the wisdom
Of venturing further
He then came to upon
A cross roads where the
Paths diverged in a wood
Suddenly He remembered
He had died and if he woke
That is where he had left
It was that or choose to go
On living in the dream.
He chose the less traveled
Path; and that has made
All the difference; and the
Rest is history as they say.

Anyway it was long time
ago but I should say that
John after a long journey
Did find his way back to his old
Home and into the arms
Of his Beloved sweetheart
It was just another instance
Of the strange occurrences
At Owl Creek Bridge But
I do not suppose you remember
It was such a long time ago

We   are the echoes of those Famous
Long ago.  We are the little people
But never little to ourselves.  Born
At the end of an age we were last but
First dying.  Dysfunctional.  The last
Breath to give voice mortal -crying for
Immortality.  Crying for immortality
Not for ourselves alone but for all of
The other little people who cried out
In elegy their meaning of being lost
Unheard were  still famous long ago.