Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Walking with Angels

He kept that dream tucked away in the back of his head.
Suppressing it at times.
Examining it at others.
He knew what he had too do, but the details were fuzzy.
Who was she, where was it, how would it happen.
He knew he would have to save her life.
He was hoping it wasn’t her, maybe it was some one else.
It was her in the dream.
But his mind was too young at the time to know others.
He knew she would be ok, but his fate was still uncertain.
Water was involved, but would that be how it went down.
As time went by he became over protective.
Until things started to clear up a little.
Maybe it wasn’t her.
Maybe it was some one else.
Where would she be?
How would he know?
Or maybe he was selfish to think they would speak to him.
If the human brain has thousands of dreams a night,
Why do we only remember a few of them?
His best plan of attack was to live free.
After all, if they talked to him once,
They would probably do it again.
What if he had already done it and not even know.
He would be driving himself crazy this late in life.
For nothing.
If they showed any mercy they would at least let him know.
Then the distractions.
He got a guitar.
He liked to play it, some said he was in the top ten percent.
If the music was the gift of the angels.
Maybe he would save her life that way.
Unless the devil managed to intrude.
Rock and Roll was considered the devil’s song.
If that was the case would he end up in hell if he didn’t save her?
So he must go on.
Not letting any thing get in his way.
Why? Because he actually gave a damn.
Everything had meaning.
The dream, the incident, the music, the angels, and the devil.
He was chosen for a reason.
Because he could shoot pool with all of them.
It was natural for him.
Years later he can still remember that stupid split second dream.
It’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.
And that is what makes him strong.

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