Whisper Lake

[couchgrouch]

Whisper Lakeis it really living, to just relive the pastcos even now that water, is tomorrow's looking glasshe parked by the lakeside, in his cherry red Corvairebrought two bottles of TJ, and a rose for my hairand though that cheap wine, tasted like sweet kerosenemy first time skinny dipping, wasn't embarassingthat night we found pleasure, in innocence lostwhite rose floating in the water, cool breeze sweeping acrossWhisper LakeWhisper Lakewhere voices of the pastwill always lastand those voices sound like fatedown on Whisper Lakeour son met this world screaming, late in wintertimethe roses soon stopped coming, but not the winehis dad drank our meals and dreams, leaving little to spareI got work cleaning houses, he fin'lly sold that Corvaireone day he took our boy, walking by the lakethen crawled inside a bottle, while our son ran and playedI remember how his words, stunk of regret and Boone's Farmwhen he said our boy went to heaven, wrapped in the armsof Whisper LakeWhisper Lakewhere voices of the pastwill always lastand those voices sound like fatedown on Whisper Lakethe next day he left in tears, and though he stayed gone for yearsthere were shadows morning couldn't shakeall I tried to leave behind, reached me like sad ripples of timefrom a pebble tossed in Whisper Lakeyears later I found flowers, by our son's gravestonehis dad returned with roses, but the wine was goneso I've tried to forgive him, he'd been through hell...heaven knowsnow we go there nightly, when starlight lays a white roseon Whisper LakeWhisper Lakewhere voices of the pastwill always lastand those voices sound like fatedown on Whisper Lake(c)2005 Robert George