So real at the time and only a little distorted from that of reality. Awake now, fantasy gone, But sleep hold – refrain from subduing me again though late the hour. For with sleep this last dream might not be forgotten. Let me linger and savor that which might have been reality.

Music pulses the brain, On wild tangents fly of far off fantasies, of people, places, things.

Gone! I miss her. With passing of time I miss her more. Her loss to me is great But the greater loss She knew not I missed her at all.

Gone the frenzy of the day, the loosening of the hand clutching at my side. Is it real, or did it happen, was there happiness at my side? Will I remember well tomorrow of today and yesteryear gone or will time steal away the memory or lock it deep inside. Even now but with one day past, memory fades and thoughts don’t last, like burning embers glowing softly, how much longer will memories last?

I

The Kiss, hardly more than a brush stroke across the canvas, effected the painting little for no paint it held, masking the artist true feelings.

The acid ate holes in my shirt. Just small holes created by the splatter. Neat little holes, except for the one where it spilled. It burned, some places more than others. Did she know the words would burn me so?

With the icy breath of the wind sweep plains stinging his face, the cowboy prodded his weary horse onward toward the seeming shelter, an outgrowth of rock offering a refuge from the wind.

He dropped wearily from his saddle, sand and dust swirling as his boots hit the rocky and uneven ground.

Not a soul heard the thud, the labored breathing of his horse, his own shallow breath’s, or the low moan of the constant wind.

The cowboy unsaddled his mount, gave it a rough but fond rub along its neck and ears, then let him free.

Slowly he moved his gear and made his bed by the rocks shelter. A simple saddle pillow, ratted blanket, and poncho cover. He laid down, watched the stars and while the full moon looked on, silently he died.