The house that Jake built
We sat there, in a building of wood and mortar, in the house that Jake built. I recall people weeping in the shadows, a woman holding my hand and the cold Prairie wind blowing snow past the stained glass windows.
Whitened streets of that forgotten town. I never have forgotten that sequence. Why it comes to mind now, I have no idea but felt that it was something to be shared.
I fell asleep again, not wanting to but helpless.
Dreams come fast, surreal but yet lifelike. Memories called to life from a hazed mind from the battlefield. Scarred, beaten but not broken the dreams call me to times when the Spirit flourished, music played loudly and it was a kiss, interrupted.
And still the train continues through the night…