What will I say to them, these chest clawed veterans
what, to shock them with MY vision
to awaken those jaded of wine and muse?
They'll fall asleep if I don't tear my heart out here
and come to the bare edge of my sanity, quickly.
Sarcasm, passion, agonizing, intellectualizing
and plundering their lives for words.
What can I do against such as these,
a romantic at an existentialist's ball.
My dreams, though, are real....
Forged of pain, yes.
But the dreams, and not the pain, have endured.
I see music in children's eyes
and feel tears well up at old photographs
of people never met.
I've seen that each moment can be an act of utter
courage...if we just live it to the brim.
Gossamer curtains these,
against their screams for blood.
I'm a child, running, in a city under siege.
gallagher
24 jun 84
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —