“No one is actually dead, until the ripples they cause in the world die away.” – Terry Pratchett
“We’re still here We’re shadows fallin’ the night is callin’ again We’re still here Where love is runnin’ the night is calling, again (Brother to brother)” – Steve Perry
Steve Perry is singing “Were Still Here” The words move through my thoughts, taking up association with the visuals from a troubling dream of the previous night. There have been many dreams lately. Too many. Visitations from unknown parts. Voices and faces from different times, different places, gathering it seems still here it seems on Highway 491, that highway in my head.
I watched them turn in a distant memory, a friend or two within my head; they stood upon the precipice of my thoughts shimmering and looked straight ahead. The night closed in with all its mystery, the stars moved circles around their heads. For I probed the devil’s triangle in my soul for they were no longer dead. “Still” I ask, “oh why the stillness?” “Is this the answer that you had?” “When you drove the sprite’s highway, with a holster packing lead.” A way fare that you both paid duly, not aware of interest due. A lost account when the sun rose ruefully, there you lay, life shed. There you lay, life shed.
Be gone, I sometimes ask the nighttime, when such scenes are played. Dreams they shouldn’t be of lesson, that of fright or dismay. I do not want to ask or wonder why such friends would leave such way. It seems a crime they stray on highways. Lost alone in May. Faces white with questionable worry, lost alone, where daemons roam. Hardly seen by modern travel, my friends, my friends you are still alone. “Still” I ask, “oh why the stillness?” Bone to dust your bodies gone, yet you distress me, for somethings wrong. In hours of morning, with springtime here, I see you driving your eyes bright and clear. On down a highway named 491, those numbers cover the shadow of the beast; those numbers cover the shadow of the beast.
Oh, mortal frames that break in two, unwitting minds of careless youth. That star you followed with its red face, led you forward on too fast a pace. It is some mystery, my dreams that see, you are waiting, waiting so patiently. Yet your mouths, cannot speak. “Oh G_D”, I ask, with weakened thought, brought on by darkness and turmoil wrought. “What is their place within my life, what is the meaning for which I now write”? “What is the meaning for which I now write”?
For there they stand by the highway, that eternal highway that runs at nighttime through my head. That eternal highway that runs at nighttime through my head.
For Jason & Tom and so many others, in my dreams on Highway 491, how I miss each one of you . – 05.07.2019 – דָנִיֵּאל