The Black Rose beckons me
Like the Fiddler in the stream of old
& the maple leaf flying in a distant breeze.
Symbols of longevity, prosperity &
Subtle truths

I feel the calling of the wind
Yet the love of the rose remains &
With the fading Fiddler I cannot trust
I waver about the paths before me

Across the fields of dreams
Nymphs of youthful juices roam
In pursuit of hearts of eager young men
Lost to unspoken dreams

I was once lost; a man without purpose
Once lost in the illusions of truth
Truths now obliterated
Truncated
Stewed and steamed &
Soon to be purged & cleansed from this
Feeble corpse of manliness

The Black Rose beckons me
The Fiddler knows my name
The Maple leaf … a wrapper at best

For my final rest

I’m sorry for not taking the time & effort
To read your bleeding hearts’ outpourings
,,,
I am at present (& god for knows how long)
Unable to comprehend anything & …
Anything but the rising of the sun and the
Setting of the moon above
,,,
I am lost
Not part of anything that matters
Unengaged as far as engagement goes &
Unconcerned about all matters thereof
,,,
‘I’ve got to give it up’, Phil sang and
I found the evocation apt as it left to us
Interpret his intentions:
'Drugs’ most would say as he did his fair
Share of the bane of contemporary life
But I can see the other issues; the otherlife
And that broken string once strummed so
Hard
,,,
I’m sorry
I’m sorry to you as reader
I’m sorry for you the mother
Having to put up with a son so
Eager to stay away, to stay afloat
On his own; walking tall without having
Been born with a silver spoon
,,,
Comma Comma Comma
,,,
I’m sorry mother
I’m sorry that you will never read this &
Never know how it was to grow up
To be told to stay away from strangers;
Never to be told the truth of love
And the consequences of --
Missing out