My darling ones we’re not afraid of distant thunder across the plain. The day gone black above us forms a gathering of the perfect storm.
A crackling bolt of lightning hits. The planets’ tinder now is lit. Downslope wind brings no rain, scatters embers, and fans the flames.
Screens glowing with conspiracies, devoured whole willingly. Masses nod and duly rise and plot a course to their demise.
Their headlights pass, an endless line towards glowing orange In a black sky. But darlings we’ll endure this night And reach the morning’s Natural Light
——
Oh precious ones alone it seems, we shed no tears for dead machines. No binary in the fibers’ light, no digital pox, or social blight.
We huddle masked our little tribe, with gratitude to be alive. With curtains drawn sealed from the night, whispered prayers by candlelight.
The hatred shown by those we knew, spreading lies, rumors too. Lost in winter. Long in night. But our days grow with Natural Light
——
Tho we see things differently, we’ve a common history. Carrion prey on our discord, reap the windfall of the war. We know the way we’re meant to be: benevolence and decency. The love we show the way we should. The way we see the common good.
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Eyes open now squint in the light. A new day born of night. A passing mirror glimpse is shown a price drawn more than known.
We view ourselves unlike the way others see thru our display. In direct light we see clear. Dimly lit, truth disappears.
Choice to seek light, a will to know, like moths drawn to a lanterns’ glow. The sacred shine from stained glass souls illuminates, Into night flows.
My kiddos fair, in springtime sun, reconstruction now begun. In a meadow rich with varied life we step into Natural Light
They took to the road with a map and a stash and stoned at a truck stop, paused for a break. Wore scalloped mirror bug-eyed reflective sunglasses, Bought donuts and coffee to keep them awake.
They’d stumbled out with idiot laughter But back on the road the smiles turned to pouts As two silenced brothers reached for cold coffee and French swirl donuts congealed in their mouths.
——
Signs for free 5 pound steaks if eaten in an hour started appearing in southern Illinois, thru Missouri, Oklahoma, into Amarillo, Texas, home of the lone star and hungry cowboys.
Onward they drove as the dry plain expanded With mesas and storm cloud mountains revealed. Thru the desert to Tucson, their destination, with the bond of a brotherhood forever sealed.
——
The years rolled on by and the hairlines receded. One grew a gut and one a bum knee. A continent spread out between the two brothers still resonating on the same frequency.
Two parents smile down with loving approval Send laughter and warmth from the great beyond. Whisper their names in the breeze when it’s blowing, and beam like the sun at the two brothers’ bond.
My generation, born of the greatest, coming of age to a dark bells toll. Idealism, a flower in a gun barrel, entrusted with the national soul.
My generation deployed to rock and roll and fought in a jungle at seventeen. And when it was over, returned to a country had no idea of what we had seen.
My generation watched as a president betrayed the trust and was held to account. We saw the same thing, the truth was apparent. There’s no other way, the leader was out.
My generation settled into easy living. Got older and so far from our youth. Once had a hunger, now got whatever. We search for the remote, not for the truth.
My generation split like a tree trunk, bought into charlatans hate filled lies. Soon it was brother turned against brother. Common ground lost, goodwill died.
My generation now sickened and sun-blind, once entrusted with the national soul, will pass on the flame, turn over the keys, and fade away, disgraced and old.
Born into a family, fifth of five. We lived beneath the same roof for some time. Then one by one we began dispersing, and the last departure then was mine. We set off for school, jobs and families, with spouses and children of our own. Now the passing of seasons dim memories of a family, together, long ago.
They wed on a Baltic summer afternoon. One year later the three of them were gone. Westward heading, they began their journey, sailing off into the unknown. The path they shared then began to widen, and one day it split into two lanes. And tho they all traveled on together, it never would return to one again.
Soon from the other side, will you hear me when I play a passage meant to move? Now my notes linger with sadness as I de-tune and lose the groove.
Both of you were born on a Monday, and from the first day you did things your way. I watched you grow and become you, and with your mother, helped you on your way. Took such pride as you came of age. My soul’s put at peace to see you two. And now, tho you live in another place, I never do feel apart from you.
Soon from the other side, will you hear me when I play in a certain style? And when there is a moment in your daydreams, may the specter of my face look upon you with a loving smile.
I walked thru their door, I stepped into the night. With the home-light burning I didn’t look back. I drove thru the night into the morning sun, down a ribbon of highway, never did look back. I tried to reason with him. I tried to calm and still her. To show the sense of doing it my way. I had no answer for them, had no explanation for why I couldn’t consider what they say. Words lovingly delivered to me never were accepted. Disregarding common sense is what you’ve might expected from A Prodigal Son.
But I saw the world turn, I saw good and the bad. I saw what I never could dream. And I lived in that world, And I loved there too. Lingering, embraced and serene. I gazed from highest mountains, to purest clouds below. My spirit rose and brushed the bluest sky. I crawled down in the valley Beside the river of sorrow, and bathed in the tears of humankind. The blessings of a dreamer child I wouldn’t wish upon you. While he dreams they experience the pleasures of insomnia from A Prodigal Son.
Wandered on back, from the wilderness, with my own kin in tow. Now I got a wife, and two beautiful girls, and they dwell in the core of my soul. I meant to get home sooner, but I am a late bloomer. They are getting older, as we all are. And then we turned the corner, and we approached the front door. The home-light’s covered, dark and cold. The flame they tended is extinguished, and my loved ones departed. We’ll raise the home-light again and with a flame will start it from A Prodigal Son.
I’m feeling their arms reaching out to me. I’m seeing their light surrounding me. I’m hearing their voices are calling me. I’m wishing to merge once again with them. To shed my earthly scar tissue then. To understand again, we have always been one, we have always been one, we have always been one, and always will be.
Words of the wise, guidance of age, cannot shake or sway what you know to be true.
Rules of the road, gravity itself, in your youth means nothing to you.
Your whirling of dervishes, drunken and wild in cathedrals where lost souls pray come back to haunt you, in your reflections, debt that you cannot re-pay.
Fields of your days, blazing at night. Calculate what the flame has consumed.
Seasons that turn render barren reserves in light of golden harvest moons.
Now winter wind blows cold and curls round your neck as your house echoes empty and still. Shadows grow long, curtains are drawn and embers are stirred in the chill.
Voice of a childs’ ghost on the trail that leads ‘neath the snow from the shore.
Steps wandering, circle about, across the cold forest floor.
If I could reach out across the divide and deliver you safe on your way, shake you and wake you, re-direct you to’ve known what I know today.
Days Are Few They spill from our hands like grains of sand And fade from our distant view.
Days Are Few Leaving no trace as we pass thru our days stumbling after truth.
