the fog
is thickest
at
the beginning
of the journey
like
a warm blanket
of
innocence
concealing
all the perils
that
may be there
so
fear
isn’t
felt
instead
the blindness
fosters
an excitement
for the trip
like
all of childhood
for
one sees
so many
paths
that may be taken
heightening
a sense
of
adventure
into
the unknown
all things then
are
possible
so
a path
is
chosen
and
the ascent
from the valley floor
begins
leaving behind
that childhood blanket
of
innocence
as
the foothills
are reached
the fog begins
to clear
still vision
is impaired
oh on occasion
a strong breeze
like
a sudden death
clears the path
defining for a moment
what lies ahead
however
it is only
a brief foresight
then the climb
continues
into the haze
of each day
laboring
to rise above the fog
hours like years
seem to pass
before the timberline
has been reached
then
eyes and vision
becomes aware
of
the dangers
on the trail
and
those all around
one marvels then
at the beauty of life
but
feels a sense
of sadness
for
not seeing
what was before
along the journey
but
the climb continues
to the tundra
the grandeur of the trees
now replaced
by barren earth
with only
low-to-ground plants
standing
like tombstones
now the path narrows
there is
no
turning back
no
fog
just
the trails
end
those melodies that have set the tempo of your life have disappeared into the drumbeats of time you always off tempo enjoying all the missteps you’ve made never regretting the toes you stepped on it was just part of life’s dance anyway they should’ve never asked you to dance in the first place or held your dreams so close to their broken hearts guess that’s why you’ve always worn those steel toed shoes cuz all of life is a construction zone one never knows when the sky will fall crushing the tips of your tomorrows by the way whatever happened to all those old dance cards you held seems you were deserted on the dance floor no one to hold or dream about guess that’s what happens when you happily prefer dancing to the off beat
the edges of dreams are frayed from all those yesterdays such ragged edges have no chance of restoration nothing can be mended so they’ll just remain as free floating fragments in random moments of life’s memory
club’s
well short
of
a quorum
just
a few old jazzers
with
hearts
pulsating
to
piano notes
no one
but
the musicians
on
stage
seems
to notice
the lack
of
patrons
all that matters
to
the old jazzers
is
the music
the antidote
to
the world outside
it’s
been that way
forever
it seems
music
counteracting
the poison
of
the world
releasing
a flood
of
sweet memories
with
just
a few chords
and
notes
the old pastor
approached
the young man
after
hearing him
berate
a teenage parishioner
who
had
dropped
a fly ball
spinning around
this novice
of
life
yelled
don’t tell me
how to coach
old man
smiling
the gray haired
parson
said
i wasn’t trying to
i was
hoping to
teach you
how
to think
love’s now forgotten laughter a mere memory family the battleground for lies the person now sadly just a name on a faded birth certificate with no remembrance of the truth
honey if you want to get it right in the night don’t go talking ’bout what’s wrong in the world or whose done you wrong at some point in your life or who you’re gonna worry ’bout next just empty that worry bin and see and touch your lover
