Ethereal Muse

Ethereal Muse



Dust to dust, Ash to ash.

Then what? Come now... Think!



My mother is near, though she

never was here and in Tenderloin

district did sink.



Alone in the ground, but, now I hear

the sound and the feel of her

near me this night.



It's a marvel to me; those we seldom

did see, know their way to us, once

they have died...



When I was but a youth, Not so

long in the tooth, I played and

I fought with a lad.



Now Dave is a ghost, long since

drowned on the coast. I swear; he's the

only male friend I have here.



I talk to Dave when I have quiet

and peace. He's my friend, my

muse, he's my ear.



I have never been scared and by him

I have dared to become friends with

many a ghost.



I will see them both soon, my good

friends of the tomb. I will talk where it's

all dark and quiet.



To my mother, Eileen, whom I

had not seen in thirty, no; forty-odd

years alive.



And to Dave, little Dave; the short

and the brave. He'd once smeared my young

face in dog shite!



With chagrin, we poor men, still

attached to our skin. Still cut-off from

those who we love.



I can't wait 'till my kin, my family and

friends will have access to me,

from above.



To a friend they can't lose and a coach, and

a muse. One who'll love them through

all of their flaws.



Perhaps that is our lot, to help those

with no plot, to help swamped friends with

that they can't handle.



Let's not rush that good day, when they

put us away in the grave, or an urn

on the mantle.



Just don't fear death, my friends: With

each start comes an end. The finish will

be our new path.



So, to Mamma and Dave: Thanks for love

o'er the grave. You've both shown through

your cryptic ascent.



That we all, through this life, and on

through the next; to move on and

to love is our bent.