my dreams will be ashes

oh, i think of things so lovely and fun

and i imagine my life, were it to follow suit

of the pictures i've painted in my head for years:

an apartment in a two-story building; downtown LA

taking bus rides into cities we've only heard names of

or seen on the big screens

flying through midnight freeways when the only ones on the road are the successfully driven, the drunkards, and us

we take some kind of comfort in the blinding beams of the street lamps and traffic lights

(not to mention the sound of the train's horn)

we drift around the sidewalks, all high on our impulsive nature: the life of the vagabond sounds so audaciously appealing, so we spend the night on the corner near the library (where i first met my friends with the dog and bad hand-done tattoos)

we catch the first train we lay our eyes on

we run though the fields that have not yet been trodden

we spend nights under the blankets of stars (or sometimes in cars)

because, dear,

we're the heirs to the glimmering world. and we wear it in our cheeks.

so we wander

thriving on spontaneity, feeding our impulsive lusts with carefree talks of what might come

what might happen

what might kill us

or make us feel more alive than we've ever known

but then we will come back to our house

with polaroids and 35-mm prints lining the walls

tucked in wooden frames from thrift stores,

next to the window adorned with lace

and sit at the dining room table,

fresh cut flowers in a vase from my mother's house

and fresher coffee steaming in two cups

(but one is chipped from wear, of course)

and we'll talk about music

and laugh about movies

and we'll say all the things

we never got a chance to say

reminiscing for hours

about our adventures

(and we'll stay there long into the evening when the crickets play their harps and the cars sound louder on the streets)

and this is how we will live.

happily, fondly -- mistakenly

(as in the dream)

and all the while,

our thoughts are all our own

through every city

we ask what we shall do

in each back alley,

we'll take the risks

across the country

for our personal delight

the unplanned and unstructured life,

so romanced

and free

it's everything i want,

and everything you want

it's all that we've dreamt of

and talked about so long

it's what life is about

and the things we always said

and it has nothing

at all

to do

with

eternity.

and then

when we make

the pearly gates,

and stand before the Throne of splendor

my life will look like death

all the treasure i've stored up will engulf in flames

brilliant embers at my feet

my dreams will be ashes

and all those years

pleasant, precious, perfect, years

will gather into a magnificent heap of cinder on the floor

oh, GOD

my eyes want such fantastic things

and

just because they don't show up on the billboards doesn't mean they mean something

more than all the other things

we always say are such futile "things"

while i neglect the only Thing

that should be my Everything

and yeah, i have no words left

what a cop-out, i know

and i can't speak of truth

when my heart is so black

but i know where it's found

so i'll cry out to You:

be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart

naught be all else to me; save that Thou art

Thou my best thought, by day or by night

waking or sleeping, Thy presence: my light.

riches i heed not; nor man's empty praise

Thou mine inheritance, now and always

Thou and Thou only, first in my heart;

High King of Heaven: my treasure, Thou art.

High King of heaven, my victory won

may i reach heaven's joys; O bright heaven's Son!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall:

still be my vision, O Ruler of all.