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Vision Through a Keyhole to the Past



INDEX

Longing For Alberta
I Say His Absence
Letting It Go
Slowly Walking Away





Longing For Alberta


Take me back to a place in time, my sweet, sweet love;
To a place far away where I used to live. -
To a windblown prairie full of bright, bright stars,
And a life of love that I used to give.

Take me back where the life flows free, free, love;
Where the fire flames wild, where the wildness is fire. -
Where the long prairie wind blows hard, hard, high,
And where safe in our cottage grew our wide, hot desire.

Take me back where my dreams drift slow, slow, love;
Where my memories glide back soft in the past.
Where the good times glow, and the sad sadness fades,
Where my joy will be whole, and my happiness last.

Take me back, and I’ll love you long, long, love.
Give me back to my homeland from whence I came.
Where the creeks and the birds scream, scream for me;
Where my spirit waits - where I have a name.


(C) 1973 Rosemary J. Gwaltney




* * *


I Say His Absence


I feel a sorrow deep within my soul
That burns inside like faint but steady pain;
Perhaps I’m broken, never to be whole
Until he’s back to stay with us again.

Yet no, I see we’ve both changed far too much
To ever go back where we were before -
I am alive - I laugh, I sing, I touch -
I love my life, my freedom more and more.

So, strong and glad I pass the aching by
And work to raise my children good and sweet;
They don’t remember, they’ve no need to cry,
Our life together stays full and complete.

I say his absence leaves no empty space...
I say he’s gone and didn’t leave a trace...
Yet still I know that none could take his place,
And still, in crowds, I sometimes see his face.


(C) 1973 Rosemary J. Gwaltney




* * *


Letting It Go


She stands in the sunrise’ fragile glow
Her feet still chilled in patches of snow
Her fingers outstretched in the eastern wind
It’s blowing away from the palm of her hand.
The ashes burned from the hurt of the day
They’re blowing away, they’re blowing away.
~ ~ ~
She knows not if it’s loss or gain
Her way of dealing with the pain
That ate her away during such long years
And carved her spirit with endless tears.
~ ~ ~
At last, at last
She’s burned the past
~ ~ ~
Now from her hand the ashes blow
She’s letting it go, she’s letting it go.


(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney




* * *


Walking Away


~
~ ~ ~
Walking away;
each step etching sharp griefs
upon our memories; stretching lifetimes of
having to walk away; each motion carving heartache;
walking away from an airport longing blindly stumbling; from
a jail, yearning, turning; from bus stations, mutely alone; from familiar
realms of delight into alien spheres; from hospitals; from intensive care units'
echoing emptiness; from nursing homes' garbled messages, woefully unintelligible,
hollow eyes, crying
ever trailing behind
accompanying guilt stalking down long halls of alien odors, appalling sounds;
from shining youth; from lost relationships; from cold funeral parlors; from
winter winded graveyards; sorrow swirling around; placing one tentative
foot ahead of the other attempting to maintain an unsteady slippery
blurring balance, unable to see the path; trying to
glimpse the future through misting years,
a journey labeled life relentlessly led,
but we will surely always dread
slowly walking away.
~ ~ ~
~




(C) 1998 Rosemary J. Gwaltney




* * *


You are listening to the song: "Smoke on the Water"
by Deep Purple

mountainrecluse@yahoo.com


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