Detoured Dreams
I always thought of heaven,
as a warm, New England Fall day.
The leaves were shining brighter
than the street post lamps at midnight.
I’m cruising along the highway.
Passing scenic pastures, tiny plazas and singing-
perhaps we are all just standing
on the great shoulders
of the men and women who were before us?
Everything that was -is
fortunately apart of today.
And I write-
because it relieves my pain.
I create
because it’s nice to remember how to love.
Am I therefore less worthy,
if I one day choose to make money,
off my lovely creations?
What if Hitler had become an artist?
Legend has it at one time,
that’s what he wanted out of life.
What if Hitler had become an artist?
What if someone had embraced this passion, this skill?
He could have sipped wine,
painted on blank canvases,
and basketed in reflection of the moon.
He could have
Made love,
and wrote songs,
and Praised God,
for the fortune of being able to dream.
Instead,
He abandoned his love for creation,
His love of art,
praised only the devil
and became crazed with hate,
millions were slaughtered,
millions had to pay the price.
How tragic can life be?
But now,
I’m Passing through scenic pastures, tiny plazas and singing-
perhaps we are all just standing
on the great shoulders
of the men and women who were before us?
Everything that was -is
unfortunately apart of today.
we never know just how much
shutting down one little, tiny, persons dream
can effect so many other people’s dreams.
and the generations to come.
What if Hitler had become an artist?
would it have spared us some?
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