adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, November 25, 2007

DOWN THE ROAD

Down the road that's yesterday
I run, calling out your name;
All my straight lines curved away
Into the sands of your fame.
Ride your team of white horses,
Ride them till they come up lame.
I'll never reveal your sources;
The song can never be the same.

Bring me the milk of your herds;
Bring the winnings from my bet.
Scatter a handful of words
Into the hungry fields of jet.
The song can never be lost;
My demands have all been met.
Maybe you won't mention the cost
But how could I ever forget?

Down the road of my tomorrow
Someone else can take the blame;
I'll be oscuro to your chiaro,
Become the shadow to your flame.
Oh, ride your team of white horses,
Ride them till they come up lame.
I'll never divide my forces;
The song can never be the same.

Stephen Brooke ©2007

This is, it should be noted, a song rather than a poem. I don't think I like the title, not that it matters.

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