Another prose poem mined from my private journal.
Whatever happened to youthful forgetfulness, the blithe freedom of living in the now with no thought of the past or the accumulated baggage that we drag behind us like ball and chain? This was the gift of youth before we were cursed by our own gnawing wants which can never be fulfilled, no matter how many things we buy or people we irritate or dominate. We still glimpse our gift on occasion: a young girl in sun dress, arms elegantly raised above her head, twirling in a parking lot or we see it in the ruddy-cheeked boy with skinned knees, carrying a stick like a staff, a soiled bandanna wrapped round a sweaty brow, fresh from a great campaign battling dragons and demons — the creatures that threaten his secret cave. Oh, that we could fight this battle dancing without thought of injury or what others might dismiss. Who said you were not Gilgamesh, a true conquer, a hero in this world. Only the man no longer listening to his dreams.