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J Allan Jewell Nov 2012
There was a boy who followed his dreams
Up a mountain and thru a stream
No matter the distance no matter the means;
Everywhere it went this boy followed his dreams.

There was a boy who followed his dreams
They ran and they hid- or so it seemed
From a little boy till he turned eighteen
There was a boy who followed his dreams

There was a boy who followed his dreams
Till it switched directions and couldn’t be seen
He sat and he cried- his hands on his knees
Wondering why does he chase his dreams?

There was a boy who followed his dreams
But they always left him lost and without a thing
So the next time they ran and he did not follow
This little boy’s dreams began to hollow
As time grows slowly but also fast
The boy lost his dreams and left them in the past

But with these dreams what comes of these?
Do dreams disappear?
Or do dreams just dream?
J Allan Jewell Nov 2012
There was a dirt road that is now paved
There sits a house where the tree line fades
Through its doors I do not know
Who walks the halls beside my ghost?

On a tree right down the road
A cross is nailed and the oak tree bows
On a cross tattered and dim
Reads my name-- never forgotten

Beneath my feet once powdered brown
Green grass grows all around
Except one spot where dead grass lay
Evidence of other days
Through the glass- between the blinds
Bottom the sound of whistling chimes
Into my room I glanced to check
If my room was clean and not left a mess
But where clothes once lay-- a different boy plays
And on his mind it does not weigh
Who walks these halls beside my ghost?
J Allan Jewell Nov 2012
In one ear
I hear so clear
A gust of wind is drawing near

In its path
Feels its wrath
A jolly pine begins to dance

In my mind a ballad plays
To the sadness the pine tree sways

At this time
In my mind
I wondered something about this pine
To how a pine could be so blue
To was a pine like me and you?
To if a pine is truly sad
Why doesn’t he leave and never come back?
To a different forest off a different two track
Leave this place and never look back

In that forest
Filled with pines
In a straight row line by line
With no change except one trace
Between two trees a giant space
And where he settled
No one knows
Except some days the passing boats
Point to a pine tree out on the coast.

— The End —