The
Soul
Of
A
Generation
Climbs
Steadily
Up the Hill
Taking
The
Steps,
Skipping
Others,
Pausing
Unexpectedly:
Watching,
Listening,
Mourning,
Rejoicing
On
The
Journey
As
The
Goal
Is
Shadowed
By
Trees
And
Benches
Along
The way
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The
Great
Leader’s
Demise
Pushes
His
Country
Slowly
Into
The chasm
Leaving
Our
DMV
To
Carry
Their
Flag
For future
Generations
Of
Believers
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Basements
Echo
Faint
Drumrolls
Behind
Layers
Of
Whitewash
Hiding
Endless
Journeys
Of
Words
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Broken
Hearts
Lay
together
Seeking
Sight
And
Warmth
While
Others
Blinded,
Bring
Token
Offerings
Not
Hearing
Their
Pleas
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free
Magic
Bullets
race
Down
The barrel
Of
My
Weapon
With
Wet
Powder
And
Broken
Primers
Reminding
Me
Of
Their
Cost
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Missed days
Pass
With
Friends
As
Empty
Glasses
Wait
To see
Again,
Drinking
Time
Alone
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What really is
In a picture
Of a picture?
Is this frame
Of a creature
A creation of
A fiction?
Fiction.
Creation.
Truth is where
I see it,
In this, perhaps,
The Other.
19.1.1993
Provo, Utah
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Pedals
Pound
The
Shaken
Mind
As
Hours
Pass
Along
The
Foreign
Soil;
Smiles
Erupt
With
Gentle
Anger
And
Kind
Relief
As
Highways
Still
The
Broken
Soul
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Old
Tracks
In
The
Muddy
Grass
Crowd
Out
The
Present,
Pulling
Past
Visitors
Toward
New
destinations
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Separation
Unites,
Healing
Wounded
Souls
And
Bringing
Peace
To
The
Hearts
Through
The
Outstretched
Hands
Of
The
Other
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Fairytale Poetry 