Flying

 

There are many times when I long so, for the days,

when, in my black Bird, I Thundered down highways.

 

Flying over many, many miles across this vast land.

Touching places I’ll never see again – this wandering man.

 

I am only able to reach out to the past, in my dreams,

never again to experience that reality, I know it seems

 

a life that was empty, and yet full – held it in my hand

that now, – in midair, empty forever – will have to stand.

 

B. J. “A” 2

June 6^th 2005