Treasure Island

James Walter Orr

(02, June,1930 / Amarillo, Texas, U.S.A.)

A Special Vintage

Long I sat there, quietly musing
on my life’s past sad confusion;
how my life was spent in drifting,
like the shadows, dancing, shifting,
seeking for love’s resurrection:
I was lost, in deep reflection.

Gazing through my drink of Sherry,
warmer than a blushing cherry,
from the fireplace, sparks were racing:
scarlet stars, like comets tracing,
are by circumstances frozen,
in that context fate has chosen.

Smoke through that glass, I was viewing,
brought the ghosts that came, renewing,
She, who lives in my illusion:
should she seek the same conclusion
that my soul has sought forever,
time will not erode or sever.

Once known, always I’d remember,
through the years of life’s December,
taste of that sweet wine to savor.
Sherry is my favored flavor.
One time tasted, I would never
stop, for I would live forever.

There are times truth turns to fiction,
but the strength of my addiction
never could, by time be sated
for the years through which I’ve waited,
tempered by the forge’s flaming
heat, my appetite proclaiming.

Crucial moments we are passing
shape sublime, sometimes surpassing
passion, though it has the feeling
that’s required to do the healing.
Dreams can live, but living lonely,
magnifies that feeling, only.

All capitalization intended as written.

Submitted: Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Edited: Tuesday, October 20, 2009

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