We float­ed our beds like rafts down the wide Mississippi,
fought river­boat pirates, strug­gled in cur­tains of labyrinth jun­gles,
skirt­ed our feet around vol­canic coals of the in-floor fur­nace.
We car­ried on like phan­toms in secret soci­eties of shad­ow,
on towards the Alamo – wear­ing our capes, wait­ing for flight.

We nev­er imag­ined, at all, that those ways would not be
the ways we would choose in liv­ing our lives. I watch my chil­dren
won­der­ing if I was ever able to teach what is not so much me, now,
that once there were heroes and could be again. But it is late,
too late to wor­ry if I was metaphor enough of a child’s dreams.

Perhaps it is time, as in ancient Chinese cus­tom, when old men
has ful­filled their house­hold and social duties, dis­charges attach­ments
and goes out into the for­est to seek again his Mother and Father,
and after all of this:

  • Bernard Fraley

    Winchester native Bernard Fraley has worn many hats, includ­ing author, pho­tog­ra­ph­er, painter, poet, reporter, news­pa­per edi­tor, and more. Find some of his books on Amazon.