For My Buddy Norm.
.
I think that I’ve maybe forgotten.
Through the mist and smoke.
Through the drinks and long nights.
Through the thought that maybe my star-gazing days are a haze, and I’ve been struck dazed and confused.
Now the wall-sized window of my living room is a television screen, leading to a world of fiction.
Where love and the War still exist, and more.
Where maybe there’s something worth fighting for.
More than a lost pen, or misplaced notebook.
Where we could all be something great.
Some sort of civilization of People.
Making something of ourselves.
With vivid Blues, and the darkest Darks.
Yellows that remind us of sunlight.
Cerulean city-scapes.
Purple hoodies, that we wrap around our lovers in the evening, as it begins to dim and the clouds come back in.
Brown violins that ask us questions like
“When are you going to try again?”
“Where did the choir of your heart retire to, and when is it going to reach the beach that we’re all looking for past the cosmos.”
A Little Mouse that urges us to get up in the morning.
And a Wise Owl that helps our minds wander.
Or a Fox that wants to lead you home, as the night gets cold, and the Street Lights turn on.
Because you were supposed to be home before dark.
I think that maybe I’ve forgotten.
.
.
.
Micah Mabey
