The Fighter (Written on a Sunday)

Fighter

The Fighter

The Fighter Kris Kristofferson inspired dream in poetry

by PETER WALSH 30 APRIL 2017

Last night I dreamed an awful dream, My hero he was dying
It left an emptiness inside, I felt my Spirit crying
See somewhere on this road through life, There just ain’t no denying
The souls we meet -Are meant to be
The Wings to keep us Flying

You lift me when I’m weary, With a gentle guiding hand
A parable of love and truth, So I may understand
There’s a light there in the distance, If I take the time to look
And the Darkness in the Shadows dies, Like the closing of a book
Some falter at the ending, Some stray out of the light
The page of life’s eternal, And the story’s yours to write

As I gazed into those eyes of blue, Those windows to your soul
I witness life and wonder, In a body that’s grown old
I can’t help but feel a sadness, And a loss when days were warmer
An enptiness inside when -You’re no longer in my corner
Sing songs of hope and wisdom, Even Blake would take a bow
If he’d looked, below and seen the man, He’d helped to shape somehow

A grain of sand, beneath lifes shoe, A rock, to something less
A mountain high, in skies of blue, A haven for to rest
There’s a cup of tin you carry, In the hands of each of us
That’s brimming full of happiness, Awaiting up above
You’re a prophet, spilling secrets – Though it’s led your soul to bleed
The ink upon the paper, Is the only truth I need

The prize was always yours you see, Your name’s etched on that belt
And Jesus knows you’re weary, From the hand that life has dealt
When weary’s got your number, Still we love you one and all
‘Cos you stood there in our corner, For each stumble, trip or fall
A brother to the fallen, A father to the lost
Humanity, in your every way, And a friend, at any cost

So fill your lungs with freedom, ‘Cos you’ve made the final round
Hell knows the tank is empty, With the seconds counting down
A hundred thousand friends of yours, Are screaming in your corner
Each lifted and elated, ‘Cos, we know you’ve played a stormer
It’s time now to surrender, For you’ve paid your dues on Earth
A healing balm, of love and calm, Awaits, to salve the hurt

 

A bad dream . . . of how it must feel when things go dreadfully awry, when those we respect and care for, who fit into our lives so perfectly fail to be there anymore . . . Wishing Kris many happy more years !!!

Peter’s other poem, the Mirror  can be found here

More of his work is housed here

 

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