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Mental Passages
by Walter Jones (Age: 62)
copyright 06-16-2004


Age Rating: 13 to 127

 
Not so long ago I wanted to be a member of the crowd
Somehow I never fit the mold of these younger days
I walked with a swagger and listed as won my battles with mind
Took awhile to learn the use of my fist and the bitter taste of blood

While I learn about the only favorite song
I now turned my head to God

Borne of the body, lost to the soul of the shadows in the mind of fight
Wanted the love of a woman more than life, ever after never thought
that beating in a guy’s head, would ever get him to understand my point of view

Slowly youth got lost in the bottle of pills and drink, lucky were those
who would get drunk and pass out. Me special of mind and body would just drink myself sober and sing another song alone in bar.

Piano man would ask me to sit in
some kind of tremble in my voice and the ability to create songs kept the melody flow lying across the page of drunks that live in the shadow of life.

Beatnik lost in the flower of love would ask me to share the love of human as I laid with the woman from a place I did not know, let the pure water melted from the ice

Filled with dreams I would look at the children that I knew and the mothers that cried for the wonder of love lost in the heat of yesterday. Still children played adults and to the bar, I returned to sing my life with those that only pretended to be adults

Days blend in to years of growing old, figuring which was the world of love and the world of stoned, steps in the wind, lost upon the idea a man was just man and egos never live past the drink on the bar

The water in the bottle or the girl singing from the room below.
Wish upon the star that glows in the aging eyes of places that I would go,
tears of memory, hold the joy of yesterday and I got lost with the dreams someplace along the way

Many is the story that is told of a fool who car was faster than his soul and I still see those twins lying on their throne, never once will they ever have known, the love of my story in the bottle far from home.

Cry not for the dreams that have died, don’t feel for the girl who never cries, step back form the bottle, to see the reflection of a drunk.

Was the fear of me, holding the rich and famous in my arms, tasted the age, of her love and charms. Then like many times before, forgot the path to her door. Wind and rain escort me on my way, which was the one who forgave and which was the one who let me get away.

Hook is set in my mind, money laid, now it is only time, that keeps me from being free, and someone learned to love me, for me


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Comments on this Article/Poem:
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07-24-2004 Irina Guschina    

Excellently, Walt! Sure, I will read your Pasages and think one more time.

With love,
Irina.


07-13-2004 Christopher Doss    

As always, excellent work. It is a bit depressing, but reality can be.


Visitor Reads: 671
Total Reads: 694
Comments: 2

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