Each year the nine of us would again get together to write another verse of the life we tried to lead. Each a writer in their own right; A poet, a linguist, a novelist, story teller, a reporter, a theologian, a historian, a drunk, a singer, and I.
We have lost three, still we write and drink a toast to cause and belief. I am the scribe today.


Again we stand-alone
Home just a journey bound

Friend sleeping in hells path
Math stands hard to add love
Music drips to harp strings

Sing me a lullaby
Again a rocking sigh
Been in the wider high
Again I cry for forgiveness

Highway takes me back
Our way in shells of chillen
Fallen angel stands before hue of gold
You touch my glass left cold
Ground takes up seasons tried

Wing strikes the soul of warmth feed
Awhile in sunset on sea blind
Up in reflection sent your frown
Down in the dark of evening is the beginning of me
Day bends the light in prism wanting
Away with drifting spirits bound
Healer stands in the ready of eddied fire

Found in the ashes of travel love holds
Me signing a document of grief on sleeve
Too much in the many days called
Remember me free and clean
Ground as hard as keratin
On the last of Pobleo dream
Sound faster than polished steel
Up in Rambo pushing the feel

Down into the hell they ride
Too many times they did come home

Ground eats the few in blues
Love eats dust of those left low
Could have been a sad show

Should have been heaven sent
Best tribute you will never know
Blind as bats ringing in tower gone
Mind just a hollow place to go

Times a poet watching heaven creating hell
Mine a place where the water flows
Done in amber and blue ills gone well
Me just the rider faster than death's call
Died in the battle of known

Satisfied by fingers guided in time
We watch the doors close and smile
The passage was beyond hope
Kept in the march of faith leading
Again we stand-alone
Home just a journey bound