Summer Bonfire Nights

Where did it go?
I wonder.
Where are all those times now?
I just don't know
i can see us all together
sitting on the sand
lighting the fire
writing down the words
running through the surf-some naked-all fearless
thinking too hard
counting the stars
whispering a prayer
a song
a poem
we would say things to the beach
we would talk to the sea.
Those little slices of driftwood
were really angels,
They were silent saints who protected us: the steely sinners.
We were the silly kids,
the non-conformists,
we were so many things.
Never so different,
to be unalike,
yet not one was like another...
like snowflakes...
like rain.
Yet we were five of a kind,
with sisters
brothers
cousins all over the earth.
Why assume that time heals all this pain,
when its been so long
has it been too long?
It should be healed by now
now
now or never.
The breezes were so gentle,
the stars were like lamps,
the breakwater was just about a crash.
The time never seemed to matter
It was always us
Never
me and him
or you and her
or she and he
just us.
Now one lives in bliss across the river,
and two drifts alone in a sea of lies,
three has gone too soon-before his time away forever,
and four-i don't recall...
i don't know four anymore.
We called ourselves a revolution,
a misunderstood,
anarchist
brigarde.
They looked at us with pity,
we spat at them with rage.
Who was to wonder,
Who would have known,
There was always a bond to get out of--always a silent cage.
The elders would feed on our youth
sucking the hate through our eyes.
I remember the nest,
and the time i sneezed and they almost saw.
If you or me ever ran away
we'd meet there with our bikes and boards...
All I wish is thet we could skip rocks again.
Silver Lake
the ducks
40s,
and straight edges,
blurred lines and broken boundaries
among
cemetary walls,
and carvings on trees.
street signs
and truck hopping
Doc Martins
Vintage record shopping,
Blond angels smoking weed
on stoops under steeples,
Not even worth a prayer but surely worthy of a poem.
Now an angel sleeps in an urn
while the others look for a place to turn.
Where,
tell me,
where is there to turn-
when four are out of touch,
all our selves are out of reach
i miss you so much everyday
why can't i just get back down
to that beach