Copyright 1980 by Clyde Bookes.  All rights reserved.
 Published in 1998 by Hoeffmeir Publishing Company, Rockport, MA
The song playing is "For No One" by Lennon/McCartney.  Midi file downloaded from  And in the Dark .
* excerpt from "Wish You Were Here", 1975 Pink Floyd Music Company.

        For no one...

                          Dreams reveal;
                          Hopes sustain;
                          ambitions that live,
                          though hidden fears
                          conceal them
                          in rational and secret

                          secret and rational,
                          in them conceal fears,
                          hidden though live,
                          that ambition sustains.
                          Hopes reveal dreams.

                           Life is not a palindrome.
             We cannot live it front to back.
                           The mistakes we make in youth
             are not balanced by the wisdom
                            of old age;

             and still we make mistakes.


   Hold I night
   til morning
   steals my dreams,
   and leaves me wonder;
   Can ever I be more?…


                                            Morning breaks.
                                            A new hope rises.
                                            So many possibilities
                                            before me lie.
                                            So many challenges,
                                                and mountains to climb.
                                            I shall overcome them all,
                                                and rise above the dawn
                                                                  of those who
                                            so little of me.

   Put your dreams away, my boy.
   Save them for tomorrow;
   So you'll be ready when the reaper comes…

   but alas, he comes today.

   Desperately climbing
   one more mountain
   but to find
   upon each summit

   there is no higher point
     to climb to
   and either side
     leads only
   to a valley
     of the past.


                                       I can see the
                                            hills before me
                                               and I am not
                                            afraid to climb;

                                       For I tread softly
                                            upon this soil
                                               and all the future
                                                    lies before me.

   Gray clouds
   obscure my vision
   for but a day.

   They will pass
   or I shall rise above them.

   There is little time for sadness,
   and no need for looking back.

                                                           If power corrupts,
                                                                 it surely is a pity
                                                                 it is not the only thing that does.

                                                           For, few things are as corrupt
                                                                 as the powerless among us.

  Daddy, why do people fight?
  Maybe men make wars so
  maybe someone will fight
  on their side, huh?
  Maybe, they win respect if they kill,
  and honor if they die, huh?
  Is that close, Daddy?

  Why are you always asking silly questions?
  Don't you have homework to do?
  Go to your, Sarah, huh.
  I'm busy right now.


   Daddy, will you tell me again about before the Light?

   Well, before the Light, people hurt each other
   Both physically and mentally.
   There was hate and war and killing even
   between people whose paths had never crossed before.

   How could they do that, Daddy?

   You see, all the people wanted to believe
   they were better than everybody else.
   Deep in their hearts, they knew this was wrong,
   but they never realized it or admitted it to themselves.
   They saw how people are different and made the differences
   Into faults.  That way they felt they were better than everybody else.

   Why didn't they talk and find out they were wrong?

   Thinking they were superior, the people were suspicious
   of other people, so they made the other people believe
   the other people were inferior to the first people.

   How did they do that?

   They took something that there was a limited supply of
   And made it valuable by hoarding it, so there wasn't
   enough to go around.  People wanted what other people
   couldn't get.  This made them feel important.  Soon,
   people were killing for things they didn't really want or need,
   but they felt inferior because they didn't have those things.

   That could never happen, really.  Could it, Daddy?

   No, I suppose not…not really.

                                                   Old man, ask me
                                                                 where I go;

                                                   As though you might know,
                                                                  or I might need your approval.

                                                    I will go
                                                                  where I will go;

                                                                  And I will find
                                                                  what life will show me…

                                                    and may I die
                                                                                 before ever
                                                                   I have seen too much.

Who are you,
  That you should live past me?

Who are you,
   to curse at
what I've done?

   Ah yes, it is life's way.
   "…And your children shall
    curse you."
   For youth shall always surpass
    Its elders…

Yet, the world remains the same.

                                            Speak to me.
                                            Let me know your mind.

                                            Bleed jet black ink
                                                   and cry your tears in words;

                                            So that I may know
                                                   they do exist
                                                               and they can escape.


                   Dream of a vision;
                          from yesterday,
                          praying for a glimpse
                   of an angry face…

                   It's funny to feel
                          you've lost
                               something you
                                      never had…

                    How can you find it,
                           when you're incapable of looking for it?

                                                        Days fade away
                                                               with the blinking of an eye.

                                                        A lost idea,
                                                               forgotten in a dream,
                                                        quietly seeps back
                                                         into my memory
                                                               like the first cloud
                                                                       of an overcast day.

                                                         It will be over soon
                                                               and I never can return
                                                                       to the ordinate life
                                                         I once led.


                       Kiss me, darling, before the storm.
                       Let me know you want me
                               even before you need me.
                       Tell me you love me
                             before we're old and lonely
                                       and have no one else.
                       Say you'll be with me,
                              before you're homeless
                       and I'll promise to be there
                               when you are.


   Times we cried
   and shared our sorrow;
   somehow, the best times
   of our lives.
   Through our pain and grief
   we seemed
   to grow together,
   while the world tried hardest
   to keep us apart.

   But, when the fight was won,
   the dust all settled,
   the peace we fought so long to gain
   had slipped away
   through the confusion of battle;
   lost as victory was won.

   But, as our lives
   may drift apart,
   as we seek our lost happiness,
   a single thread will
   forever bind us
   as we recall
   our tears, so many,
   and remember, too
   the small joys
   we gave each other.

                                        Come to me, O sacred love.
                                        If you be of spirit,
                                                I will die to be with you.
                                        If you be a dream,
                                                I vow never to wake.

                                                So oft have I dreamt of thee
                                                you could not be real…
                                                but if,indeed, you are,
                                        I shall never dream again.

                                        Come to me, love
                                                 and I'll forsake
                                                        all that I am worth
                                                 just to be near you
                                                        and gaze into your eyes
                                                 one time to weave a memory.

                                        A memory to last forever,
                                                 and brave the storms of time.

                                         I will remember how I held you,
                                                  though I knew
                                                  you could not
                                                      be mine.

               My lover stood before me…
               My lonely, empty life had ended;
                                            or so I thought
                         at that brief moment.
                A friend of many conversations;
                         of many hopes and dreams,

                my lover stood before me.
                In her hand she held a rose...

                A rose; a symbol...
                such beauty
                          so dear
                                it seems eternal.
                Yet, all too soon,
                          it is but a fading memory.

                "Fare thee well".

            She soke so softly,
                I tried to believe
                                she spoke not at all.
                Then, again, she said,

                "Fare thee well".

                                               I sit content
                                                   just to see you.
                                               I know we will not converse.
                                               I could never hope to hold you;
                                                   your love is with another.
                                              And, though my heart will always
                                                   yearn for your love,
                                               I would be happy if I could
                                                   only remain in your presence;
                                                         forever a silent
                                               who perchance could be more...

                                                         so very much more.


Tender love
        I curse thy touch.
As a siren's song
        I perceive thy hand.
Your joyful blessing
is mere entrapment.

In each sweet caress
there lies the sharpest dagger
        to twist my mind
        til I know it not
and severe my words
til they lose all meaning.

                                           You sit all alone
                                                   on a cold stone wall,
                                                   on a busy city street;
                                                thinking about all you've lost.
                                                I have no cure
                                                   for the illness that plagues you.
                                                For if I did,
                                                   I would cure myself.
                                                But please,
                                                   let me be lonely with you.

                                               We sit together
                                               and stare at the light
                                               that illuminates their road;
                                               but leaves the path we travel
                                               completely dark.
                                               I would like to take you home,
                                               but I well know
                                               we may not find home
                                               Let me be lonely with you.

                                               We, immobile,
                                                crippled from the inside
                                                and hands broken
                                                from reaching out,
                                                may exist,
                                                but neverr live.
                                                At least,
                                                we are two.
                                                Let me be lonely with you.

            You sing a psalm of love
                    as if we could attain it
                                at will.

              Love is a wondrous grace
                     which blesses us.
              Oft ill-timed
                      and more often
              it can be a curse.

              Lust is but an instinct
                       and cares so little
                       for our goals.

              But time is portioned to us
                        to make of
                        what we will.
               And we horde it greedily,
               and spend with so much caution;

               and, perhaps,
                         that makes it precious;

               such short supply
               so much demand;
                         for, everybody craves it;
                far more than else I've mentioned.

                From time grow bonds
                mistaken for these others.

                For, it is not the
                          chance of love
                                which makes
                 the longest marriages.

                 It is not the wildest sex
                          which makes
                  the greatest lover.

                  For, these things are often fleeting
                  and leave us colder
                  than before we found them.

                  Time is what
                           all crave
                                from each other.
                   Time is what we hide from enemies.

                   Those who take time
                            to say "hello"
                    become our friends.

                   Those who share their time
                                 with us
           often become our lovers;

                    and those who share our dreams
                            become our mates.

I sit here,
    telling you all I feel;
    what I think
    and what I've lived.

We talk for fifteen minutes.
     I feel close to you.
     Then, I suddenly realize;
            I'm alone.

You were never here.
Still, I mean all I've said.
We're very close,
     but I'm still alone...

            all alone.

                                     Nights alone
                                                         without a dream...

                                                         What is forgotten?
                                                         How can one know?

                                                          Know only;
                                                          once there was a feeling
                                                          that made it all
                                                          and it is still
                                                          waiting there,
                                                          if only I could find it.

                                    I heard the news,
                                           there was good rockin'
                                                        last night.

                                    I remember when I was
                                             young enough
                                                        to dance...
                                    No, that's misleading;
                                             I could still dance if I wished.


                                     I was young enough
                                     to want to dance.

                                     What happened?

                                      Years can sometimes
                                             make one fragile;
                                      but experience
                                             more often
                                                    makes one forget;

                                       forget the world was once new;
                                       forget that we can dream...

                                       forget to dance.

    You have my attention,
        my pity,
        my strife
        for two-thirds of my day.

     I'll live in your world, see all the sights, discuss all the intr~cacies
        of your society;

    But, when we all settle down
        and I give my body a rest,
        I must open the door
        and see what I think.

    I'll take a trip
    a midnight junket
            to the soul
    in a simpler term,
    I will dream.

Dreams where thoughts
                    reign supreme
    desires are revealed
    and hopes are fulfilled
    perhaps, even guidance is given...

and I never remember more than I should.

                                    Glaring through a pool of confusion,
                                                    not black but merely clouded;

                                     For, if it were black,
                                     I would be free
                                                    to see what I would
                                                    and create a reality of my own.

                                     But the clouds have shapes
                                                    and cast shadows
                                                    and leave clues of reality;

                                     clues sent only to puzzle
                                                    and not to reveal.

Did you ever feel
that you wanted to be
just another wheel
fitting into the place
where you think you belong?

Cold steel that has no feeling,
responsibility or pain;
blindly obedient, deathly free.

I think I'll stand in the rain;
just an impulse
to follow what I feel
and be
what I know
they won't accept.


                                                Run for tomorrow.
                                                Flee from your life.

                                                Look toward the future.
                                                Years from now you will discover
                                                endless yesterdays
                                                and you will weep,
                                                not for the pain,
                                                the loss, nor sorrow,

                                                not for the life,
                                                nor joy, nor memories,

                                                but for the lack;
                                                for nothing.

                                                You will weep,
                                                for nothing...

                                                cry, for no one...

            Time, sweet time,
            swift is thy flight
            and painful thy wrath.

            You grant man his knowledge
            then, all too soon,
            it does him no good.

            Time, sweet time,
            gentle is thy touch
            but, like the one I love,
            you are too soon gone.

                                                            I am an escape artist
                                                                    and no chains of reality
                                                                    can bind me.

                                                             I cannot be held
                                                                     by the prison of
                                                                     another man's rules;

                                                             For, I have picked
                                                                     the lock of time
                                                                     and discovered
                                                                     the weakest link
                                                                     in the chain
                                                                     of the universe.

Fortune has no soldiers,
        and has no need of them.
It rules iron-fisted over its subjects
        and is an obedient subject to its rulers.


                          My mind is like the tar
                                     dripping from the ceiling;
                                                 frozen in time and space
                                                                 it knows no pressure.

                                           It hangs suspended from the ceiling;
                           free and obscure.
                                                 It once knew life,
                                                 but now it is frozen.
                                                 Now it can only
                                                 what is below it.

                                             It is never touched
                                            and seldom observed.

I sit looking down.
perplexed by the reflections
that I see
when I look up,
I am deeply troubled to find
everything is distorted
in a horrible way.

It seems to me,
the reflection is real;
a mirror of truth
while our reality
reflects man's view.

I see the errors
I could not correct;
yet, I know it is false.
I pray for an answer
    and a peaceful mind.

Now I see.
It's very simple.

I sit looking up;
perplexed by the reflections
of the real world.

                    There is nothing so juvenile
                        as acting like an adult.
                    There is nothing so fool-hardy
                        as feigned wisdom.

                    Truth so oft eludes the seeker
                        that he sees it not before him.

                    For, Truth is not brought forth from hiding
                         nor excavated from 'neath the lies.

                    It need never be proven
                         to those who see it not,
                         nor explained to those who dispute it.

                    No, Truth flows freely,
                         more freely than lies,
                                and is twice as stealthy.

                    We need not seek;
                         merely cease to repress it.

                                            Will I ever be free
                                             of this emptiness
                                             that plagues me

                                             each time I reach
                                             a zenith in spirit
                                             and feel myself complete?

                                             It seems only a short while
                                             until I plummet down
                                             nearly to where I started.

                                               "Running over the same old ground.
                                                             What have we found?

                                                              The same old fears.'*

I was fined the cost of freedom;
            a price I could not pay,
for it consists of
thinking my own way;

being free to agree
or argue til out of breath.

It is responsibility
to respect the rights of others;
for they are free to choose
whether they respect mine.


                         Truth is a cancer
                         that can destroy a soul.
                         The search for Truth makes us
                         bold, wise and good,
                         but once we have found it,
                         our hypocrisies soil our consciences.
                         We see ourselves as the worst things living
                         and the world as the worst place to be.

                         Failure to rectify this situation
                         increases the guilt and the hate
                         within us.
                         The inner turmoil won't cease.
                         We try to lie, but it won't work;
                          not any more.
                         We know the Truth.

                          Truth brings pain, grief and struggle.
                          Truth is a prison,
                          but to seek it is the highest freedom.

                          It should not be found until
                           it is fulfilled.

                          Truth is a cancer
                           that can destroy a soul.

                                   Do you ever feel the walls
                                                 closing in on you,
                                                choking your soul
                                      and crushing your heart?

                               Are they harder than granite?
                                        Are they endlessly tall?;
                                               and infinitely long?
                                        Are there no windows?
                                                    Is there no air?

                                             Your eternal prison;
                                          and you laid the bricks.


                Yesterday's dreams
                        fade into tomorrow's void
                        and die
                an unmourned death.

                Abandoned for "sensibility",
                they are
                left to starve;
                unfed by imagination;

                perhaps, for the best
                        if there is no essape,
                        how can a prison be judged?


Borrowed reasons for living,
taken from men who knew their direction,
explained in ways I could not understand;

they are the paths
        I followed
for, oh so many years;

until I found
        there are no paths,
        no woods to fight through...

life is an open field
        of wild flowers.

Guru teach me your way of life.
Pureness of heart
                          and clearness of soul
is all that I seek.
May we speak a moment?

Will you stop to preach?
I wish to learn of your holy ways.

Teach me, guru,
how everyone is wrong
but you are right;
how evil is the world;
no one can be trusted...
no one but you.

Teach me, guru,
                           to conquer my soul;
so it will lie silent
to my hypocrisy.

Disclose all your evils,
for then only good remains.
Show me Truth
                            is a lie,
and your life's as good as dead.

Teach me, guru,
and I'll pray for your lost soul.

                                                    Blessed be he
                                                    who bringeth mirth
                                                    into the darkest caverns
                                                    of men's hearts;

                                                    For it is the greatest weapon
                                                    in the war against fear
                                                    and the mightiest shield
                                                    to protect us from hate.

Happy demons frolic in the moonlight.
Congenial spirits, they mean no harm,
so they say, "only to bring joy
to those poor suffering souls
whose need is most dear."

I see no harm in keeping their company.
They encourage me to do nothing
but enjoy that which is mine.
It can do no harm, for,
I feel no pain.

Preacher, how durst thou
preach against my friends,
when they bring only good tidings tonight?

But alas,

I arn alone in my misery.

Faces I have never seen
glare back at me
when I face a mirror.

Why do you haunt me,
You seem not to bring torment,
though you bring no joy.

Perhaps, you desire
only my consideration
of who I am and
the path I must tread.

You are the catalyst
for rememberences of things
that never happened,
sights that have no form,
and feelings that I cannot  describe.


Canst thou not cross
but this narrow path?
Forsooth, no obstructions
lay in wait.
            you stumble
upon your own limbs.

when one can
no longer stand fast,
the time has come to move.

When suffocation draws near,
it is most wise to draw a breath.

                                               Canst thou not see
                                                     the light just beyond?
                                                            One step beyond, it lies;
                                                               ready to consume thee
                                                                        with its strength.

                                                Let not your feet wander.
                                                Let not your eyes stray.
                                                For, you follow false reflections.
                                                            The vision is before you
                                                                  only open your mind.

                                                 The black pool for which
                                                                 you cease your quest
                                                                          is nothing more
                                                                               than the fear
                                                           within your heart.

                                                  Let your ears be deaf
                                                                         to all around you.
                                                  Listen instead, to the voice
                                                                                 of your soul.

                                                  Let not your feet wander.
                                                  Let not your eyes stray.
                                                  For, you follow false reflections.
                                                              The vision is before you
                                                                    only open your mind.

                                                    A baby's cry;
                                                                a song of youth; curse it not.
                                                    It is a joy,
                                                                like so many,
                                                    lost while possessed,
                                                    then missed when gone
                                                    too soon.

                                                    To memories;
                                                    dark and doubtful,
                                                                can you recall
                                                     how much was real,
                                                                how much you dreamt?

                                                    Will you ever get back
                                                     more than you ever had
                                                     at all?

As I watch
        so many men
                pursue their dreams,

I wonder
                I am pursued by mine.

While they struggle
        to reach
                but a fragment of fantasy
                                                  to release them,

I search
        for a thread of reality
                to guide me home.

                                Lost in time;
                                have I been here before?

                                This ghostly haze which
                                       surrounds me
                                is neither friend nor foe;
                                but is yet,
                                        familiar to me.

                                Is it a feeling,
                                or but a memory
                                of a feeling?


                                                        Here stands a man;
                                                                see him laugh,
                                                                see him sweat.
                                                        But don't make him cry;
                                                        for, he is a fragile thing.

                                                                He has the power
                                                        to change his environient,
                                                                but has naught
                                                        to control his mind.

                                                        For, a joke is soon forgotten
                                                         and in the most severe heat
                                                                  a breeze is on the way

                                                         but his pain will
                                                                  never leave him.
                                                         At the brightest noon,
                                                                  his heart is grey.

            But what will be the worth
            when your world is swept away
            by the winds of time?

            When the bricks have turned to powder
            and your wood has turned to dust;

            there will be none to mourn;
                        none to recall
                        none to know or care

            what you have done,
            tried to do
            or hoped to prove.

            All previous facts will be irrelevent;
            for, now there is only one truth;
                         they are no more.

                                            Thou, lonely old poet,
                                                        love all given;
                                                        words all spoken;
                                                        past too faded
                                             to recall;

                                            You sit at the desk
                                            where once you labored
                                            to bring a world of beauty
                                            to your world of pain

                                            and stare at
                                            a blank page
                                            beautiful in its contentment
                                            to be what it is.

                                            It needs no words
                                            to adorn it.
                                            It is perfect serenity.

                                            You are no longer needed.
                                                        Now you may die.


        Here I tread
        upon ground I have passed over
        so many times before;
        never glancing
                at where my foot
                            might fall.
        Just passing through
                            this curse
                                    which haunts me;
         I dare not call it existence.

         These things I see
         are the same today
         as when they began.
         They meet my eyes
         but travel no further.
         I cannot acknowledge them.

         Just passing time;
         making the motions;
         owing loyalties, but feeling
                                    no devotion.
         Just waiting;
         though, for what,
                I know not.

         Just passing time;
         not getting involved
                you know,
         I'd look for the answers
         if, in the questions
                I perceived some bit
                                    of reason.

                                                    All hopes have faded.
                                                    All dreams have vanished.
                                                          I see no purpose;
                                                      no purpose for my life.

                                                         But still, there is
                                                               no reason
                                                               for death.

                                                     I see only my faults.
                                                   The good has left me.

                                              And I have no compassion
                                                    not even for myself.

    Won't you walk beside me,
                            dear brother?
    Can you not give me a smile?
    Do we march to victory together?
    Please, tell me;
                            Do I walk alone?

    Never have I felt so inspired.
    Never have I felt so weak.
    I know now
            my fate has been proven.
    I know now,
            I must surely fall.

    For so many years have I struggled.
    Oh, so many tears have I cried.
    And when I
            at last find happiness,
     it comes
            at the moment I die.

     I've searched all my life
            for this feeling;
     so complete; I know I'm not whole...
     but, proudly I bow at the curtain;
     not the end,
            but act one of the show.

                                            I glimpsed upon a shadow
                                                    watching over me.
                                            "Brother John, is that you?"

                                            Though I could not see his face,
                                            I knew he did not smile.
                                            "How, then, are you called?"

                                            He answered not.
                                            He turned,
                                                    and walked away.
                                            "Pray, tell me your quest,
                                                    before you abandon it."

                               Said he,
                                                  "I sought
                                             to determine some
                                             in your actions,
                                                 but found only
                                             wasted time and
                                             limited potential."

                                            "I have always kept busy
                                                    yet, only in services
                                                            to aid mankind.
                                            If my efforts have been futile,
                                            it is in the performance
                                                            of these tasks,
                                                    they have been so"

                                            "all you've said is true",
                                                    he replied,
                                                    "and still,
                                             I watched long
                                             to be certain,
                                             lest I misjudge you.

                                             Long have I walked
                                                      beside you.
                                             Now you must walk
                                                      beside me."

The death knell fades.
        My spirit rises

I am at peace.

No past dares haunt me.
No future confronts me.

        I am no longer
        that which exists;
        existence itself.

                                              Why the distraught look
                                                         upon thy visage?
                                               Know thee naught
                                                         thine old friend
                                                         and comrade?

                                               On Earth my form was altered
                                                         yet, I was then
                                                         as now I am.

                                                If my presence gives you pain,
                                                         why then,
                                                         did my departure
                                                         not please you?

                                                 I bid thee shed no tears for me.
                                                         I have gone my way;
                                                         as must we all.

                                                 As for yourself,
                                                                    fret naught;
                                                         thy time is brief.

                                                 Though many years we pass
                                                  and many paths we travel,
                                                          the life we lead
                                                          is but a step.

So many
Miles trod,
            people I've known
friends won and lost,
                         so many stories I've told
         find me here
                        u p o n    a    t h r e s h o l d
                    a  step beyond...
                                        A l l    seemed  true  a t   t h e  time.
                                            All lies
                                                         Lead to the future,.
                                    Surely, I need not leap forward
                                               for the lies I've heard
                                               and time will find me
                                       fill more than my memory can hold.,
                                                      wherever I stand.

                                        Okay, there is no threshold.
                                              There is only where I stand.

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