risk :: prev :: next :: how will history see me how will i be remembered i could be a hero i could be the pilgrim the adventurer the one who, despite fear when at the top of the pile when every thing was secure and all my talents safely buried risked it all and won and was the biggest winner of all not because of personal gain but because all those around me who were trapped in the shallows found their course changed and were projected well beyond where they would be if i had played it safe and themselves became risk-takers and went on to change their world my heart is hot my actions are luke-warm to avoid becoming a half-digested carrot i pray that my heart rules the day in the old days in showing who i was i sang that happy refrain "perhaps i'm a dreamer, we're two of kind" now i see my mistake i projected what i was on one who wasn't i was the only dreamer i am the only dreamer no imagination, no vision this is what led to death i was not the one who severed the ties when life's blood was draining out i refused to let the patient die sometimes i pumped the chest, desperate for breath to return others i kept a late-night vigil, silently, alone, in tears yet in the end my efforts were not enough for the patient had elected death and resolve filled the gap left by vision that they are severed is unavoidable it might enter my mind then (being a dreamer, and untiringly hopeful) that i may now again dream unencumbered that there are no fences but as i wrote many years past seems to hold true still there is still a gun to my head and a cold, fearful voice screeching "This is your life, don't flinch, I dare you to move!" There are two kinds of captives; those that attempt escape early in their captivity yet as day turns into week, and month turns into year they simply give up, and wonder if they were ever free. Then there are the kind who never give up; with each attempt at escape the beatings by their captor are more severe, yet with each attempt they get closer to freedom, and they are resolved to die trying, for death is better than captivity. i'm beginning to see their are no bullets in the gun i dare you to dare me to move one more time i refuse to allow a spirit of poverty a tight grip on a mound of mud and straw to continue to suck the life from my imagination be forewarned © 2006 (5 may) john r. chase
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