Returned Triumphant Dreamer

I remember the beginning
those suicidal thoughts
when my dreams were nothing and
I was cowed
driven like stupid
cattle
into this mindless chase
where we stumble
in our own shit.

I will arise and I will stand.
The rebellion is late
but it is
here and now.
I will pick up my pen and
I will gouge the page
until it bleeds
my heart
your eyes and
the earth melts
into that nasty sea called
reality
which I swam in
returned
triumphant
dreamer.

Without dreams there is no reality.

I am afraid of their whispering
what is this dark path?
but we will walk it
my God
you and I
as we have
always together.

He was a dreamer
and he dreamed the
impossible
dream
of a new world
of dying to bring life
of bleeding to heal every wound and
when they nailed that poem above his head
that dream became
reality.

Upon this road I stumbled
I know not how or why
perhaps led by some strange
spirit
blind and groping
I have walked and
suddenly
now
I am here.

I must speak
whispers to rooftop
shouts
perched on the pinnacle
and if I fall
burst on the ground
then at least I can say
that the scarlet stain
though washed away
was at least
glaringly there
real
for a moment.

9/1/89
Reposted from Sept. 2011

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