Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Dec. 31, 1999

You, my old friend
Know me well
Words and stories
left to tell
Are the memories
piling up like a snow drift?
Meeting by chance
An accident of sorts
That never got old
And grew through the years
Through hysterics and tears
Up at night, slept in the day
Boats in the waves
Or at the dock
Awareness and Consciousness
Krishnamurti or Sublime
Books and raps and rants
Wood, glass or jazz
Cold weather and desperation
Defined us
Inspired us
Guitars and magazines
Ecstasy, rage and need for change
fuelled by discontent, enlightenment
illumination
led the way in our dark
from a van to an old car park
Painted faces on new year's eve
You found who you were looking for
Amid the ragged assed broken glass
And vexations and awakenings
As the Sun came up, we were relieved
Yet disappointed
There was something new
In the morning air
Was it hope?

No comments:

Post a Comment