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On The Tail Winds of Dreams…
(Apropos Strong Men…)

The day stops.  Night begins.
The cocooned dream hangs lazily
On the leaf to time.  The veiled goddess
Justice remains oblivious; her skewed scales mimicking
A faked balance.  The dream dreams back at us
a Mona Lisa smile teasing the realities of our beings:
zip-lining through winds of change:

Blowing over cob webbed roads we once marched down.

Old warriors sing silent songs (a mute chorus)
Pondering the deed yet undone; the children wander
But can not remember Zion; and we can not teach experience:

(Neither defeat nor victory.)

Though the tree of hope sheds her falling leaves,
In the spring tide of resurrection, they shall overcome;
And the cocooned womb shall birth forth a new freedom
No longer veiled in allegory; a plumb line shall be in our midst.

(Shall we question the Word?  Who dares?)

The dream beacons.  If memory could speak, I would cry; 
Stone sheds no tears.  Let Lincoln sit in his motionless chair;
As for me, I shall rise and cross many more meandering rivers:

The spirit of Martin and Malcolm being the wind in my sail. 

(“And The Strong Men Just Keep Coming On…”)

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