Of the browning leaves of a book I'd long left halfway read,
your picture reminds me;
A desire buried in my head, in some life behind me.
Why do you come to mind again, why remind me?
Gilden moments we must have spent,
together so many comfortable hours of quietude.
Now I wallow to heart's content
in surreptitiously striking solitude.
Oh where are you now, where are you?
Still straddling that bent up guitar, cooing the corners of oblivion,
making faces at the czar, are you still the old bohemian?
Had we not dreamt, together of travel,
of surfing upon the fabric of these worlds?
Had we not held, and in one breathe declared,
that we would conquer and return?
Bitter verity, spare me now,
I shall not look back in regret.
Every man and lady, I look around,
burdens under the very same fret.
What could have been, of these crossed paths had we chosen otherwise;
Was there ever a choice?
Would we have shed our sacred blood and found truth amidst the lies?
Ah, this common destiny toward which all gravitate,
inevitable and deceptive, 'tis but the only fate.
If loss, dear fellows, is the doubtless tale of this life,
it makes you wonder whether love indeed is wise.
I must now find a love that exists,
beyond the frames of now and then.
Having left the battlefields behind,
I seek that realm
where time is conspicuous by its absence.
For in such a place alone can true love shine,
in all it's variegatedness.
Then it was never you, my old friend,
with whom my search was to end.
Our love was like the love of men,
fickle and subject to our selfish ends.
This yearning then must surely be,
fulfilled by The Divinity.
That One God, of gods and men,
who is surely waiting for you and me.
All that now remains to be seen,
is the countenance of that primal cause,
and so I aspire to selfless surrender,
which draws me closer to infinity's shores.
your picture reminds me;
A desire buried in my head, in some life behind me.
Why do you come to mind again, why remind me?
Gilden moments we must have spent,
together so many comfortable hours of quietude.
Now I wallow to heart's content
in surreptitiously striking solitude.
Oh where are you now, where are you?
Still straddling that bent up guitar, cooing the corners of oblivion,
making faces at the czar, are you still the old bohemian?
Had we not dreamt, together of travel,
of surfing upon the fabric of these worlds?
Had we not held, and in one breathe declared,
that we would conquer and return?
Bitter verity, spare me now,
I shall not look back in regret.
Every man and lady, I look around,
burdens under the very same fret.
What could have been, of these crossed paths had we chosen otherwise;
Was there ever a choice?
Would we have shed our sacred blood and found truth amidst the lies?
Ah, this common destiny toward which all gravitate,
inevitable and deceptive, 'tis but the only fate.
If loss, dear fellows, is the doubtless tale of this life,
it makes you wonder whether love indeed is wise.
I must now find a love that exists,
beyond the frames of now and then.
Having left the battlefields behind,
I seek that realm
where time is conspicuous by its absence.
For in such a place alone can true love shine,
in all it's variegatedness.
Then it was never you, my old friend,
with whom my search was to end.
Our love was like the love of men,
fickle and subject to our selfish ends.
This yearning then must surely be,
fulfilled by The Divinity.
That One God, of gods and men,
who is surely waiting for you and me.
All that now remains to be seen,
is the countenance of that primal cause,
and so I aspire to selfless surrender,
which draws me closer to infinity's shores.
