The Healing

We were the wildest, man.

We lived on cough drops and coca.

We ran faster and harder than all our peers

who seemed so satisfied by the latest pop song

or the crack of a bat on opening day.


Standing tall, counter-cultured and all

preferring the cool of the underground

to the harsh realities delivered on our doorsteps

each and every morning.


We observed the players playing

by ineffectual rules.

Leaping from game boards

Leaping from bed partners

turning tables

turning clocks back

inevitably, turning on us.

Complete with cereal box smiles

as if being dissatisfied with one's life

was a basic human condition.


We took our lessons, and gathered advice

but in the end we chose different tracks

for our trains to blow their smoke high.


In hell's hotel our pencils spat fire,

burning through parchment

burning through us

powered by passion with lots to go around.


Opened door, free for alls.

Hands pounding,

keys Jazzed with jungled rhythms

Screaming wildly, with no apparent way out.

Hats were passed but not shredded

then tossed down to the curious crowd

who gasped in observance to this local blood letting

only to engage in off track betting on which one of us

would fall first.


It was as if Our souls had begun to ripen too soon

and sought refuge from their physical form.


We traded hot rods for rocket ships

Fired them up and flew.

And oh, how we loved to fly.

We soared.

Gliding eyes,

wide with feelings.

Man, it was beautiful

it was tender

it was perfection in a picture frame.


The earth was ripe and ready to be plucked,

The moon was big and bold and it called down to us.

The oceans calmed when we came near.

The strata begged us to endear

we had front row seats to Sinatra

And the world was one big fucking open bar.


The only problem was,

no one seemed to know how to land.


I watched silently,

as my friends fell like diseased trees

in some lost forgotten forest.

It was unreal

it was unmerciful.

The agony fell heavily upon fragile shoulders

like favorite linens drenched with tears

that will never dry.


And we were scared.

We were scared of backyard barbeques

where old men with oversized bellies

hand out warm beers like war trophies.

Football blaring,

they console each other

like old soldiers returning from battles lost,

never realizing they fought their wars with pistols unloaded.


We were afraid of being young,

we were afraid of being old,

we were afraid of being with someone,

we were afraid of being alone.


But most of all,

We were afraid that we would never

achieve greatness in this world.


When the storms were at their worst

we used lies to wash away the panic

from each others eyes.

When our bodies had no heat

we used lies to keep each other warm.

And when our souls were hungry

we used lies to feed them by.

Until finally we had no more lies left to live.


The clocks on the wall seemed smaller then.

Insignificant ticks,

that talked to ears much older than my own.

I stare up at them now.

I find myself much more appreciative to their demands.

I am glad I have eyes to see.

A brain to think.

A soul to feel.


I no longer demand the stars

on the foggiest of nights

I'm satisfied with the mist on my face.


I know it's the simpler things

a smile

a kind word

a warm place to sleep


And on this cold winter's eve,

I will drive my car under the beckoning stars

perhaps a little slower than I used to.


And I will engage the skies

only when the need to romanticize

the moonlight persuades me too.


And when I return to the place

where my lover awaits.

I will kiss her deeply on the lips

and I will stroke her pretty brown hair.

And I will breathe… easily.


For on this night,

I will find my salvation

behind a pair of steely blues

that smile down at me

from behind the clouds.




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