The Memory Less Traveled

[couchgrouch]

The Memory Less TraveledI walk the forest slowlywhile day pours over the edge of nightas I start my quiet journeymy eyes drink the last drop of lightI know pathways to the pastmy thoughts often walk till dawnthey're safe and straight and clear,as they guide me through my yearsbut when I'm lonely I wander onthe memory less traveledthrough shadows of my minddown hollows of shame and heartbreak'cross shallow creeks of timeI follow haunted dreams,to where the hootowl singsfor I know there I will findthe memory less traveledit's funny I don't rememberall these rocks and crooked bendsjust weeds of regret growing wildlyand a woman's face at the endI know all that's to be found thereare fields of unfaithful lovecos it's been so long since,I've seen her footprintsin the dust and dead leaves ofthe memory less traveledthrough shadows of my minddown hollows of shame and heartbreakcross shallow creeks of timeI follow haunted dreams,to where the hootowl singsfor I know there I will findthe memory less traveledit's a long road to walk alone,it's hard finding my way homedown a path of my mistakesbut there's just one way back,to see all that I lackand sometimes I feel I must takethe memory less traveledthrough shadows of my minddown hollows of shame and heartbreakcross shallow creeks of timeI follow haunted dreams,to where the hootowl singsfor I know there I will findthe memory less traveled(c)2004 Robert George

[kugeran]

Hello Mr.Robert George I admire Your writing and Your delicate wayof presenting a story.The lyrics in "The Memory Less Traveled"hits me spot on.A question,do You have any of Your writing published?All the bestJan PetterNorway

[couchgrouch]

thanks Kugeran! I had some poetry published back in the 90's and have recently had some songs published.

[kugeran]

Thats great!Is Your poetry available in any stores?pls direct me.All the bestJan PetterNorway

[couchgrouch]

no, I was it was, haha. it was published in some college literary magazines, stuff like that. it's been awhile but this is one that published quite a few years ago.Shelf LifeNow that my wife and boy are goneI can't sleep unless I stay up latebut talk shows keep a night alivelike sugar keeps up a wino's weightforty-fives strewn like antenext to a suitcase phonographthe future's here today gone tomorrowkeeping the golden rule a golden calfsince she took our portraitnic-nacs have crowded that shelfreally now, they're mortuary make-upthis poor room applies to itselfsure, I said Chub should babysitwhile we were out for a game of bridgewhen we got back, Chub was asleeplittle Danny, dead in the basement fridgeI took my half of our savingsand opened a smoky corner barbut after a year it had no more regularsthan a whore with a C-section scarso I cheated on a chapter sevenand chalked it up to a foolish youthtalking to myself, it seems just telling itstretches the truthstill, time rides smooth as a gurneyfishing off the longest pier in the harborstiffing waitress after waitressand barber after barberI've got a glove box memorymostly trash, maybe a few receiptslike washed up women who've had abortionsI choke up at children on the streetsand damn these diseased dog suspicionsthat let me dump them without a fightthey turn up scratching at my windowin the middle of the nightO no matter what you dothere's that hour that sticks in your crawthink how the crumbling walls in Dad's old placehung on his paintings of Manow on the third of every monthI cash my check and treat myselfI walk home with a Happy Meal for dinnerand set another toy on that shelf(c)1996 Robert George