The Silver Trumpet Brayed

And so tonight, and the first time for a long time, a sense of loss. But how can one sense the loss of something one never had in the first place. Or maybe I did have it, maybe it was really there and maybe, like McCartney's poor boy, I never really knew.

I remember that day when waiting on a street corner I saw that treasure approaching, and I remember how I felt and how I longed to have it for myself. Then, as it drew closer I realised that it was indeed already my treasure, the treasure I already held in my hand, it was mine and no-one elses. How could I let such gold slip from my grasp.

But it's not just that, greater things have eluded me, greater joys departed. There's little here and the only gold gleams in the bottom of a glass. Here's my salvation, here's the way home (for my feet are loathe to carry me). It's a long way home, but the longer road is behind me and the lights of home are there to see just beyond that hill (but my steps are slow and the joys they promised sadly absent)

posted by Weasel @ 8:03 PM