The Best Thing I Can Think Of
The best thing I can think of
When I'm not dreaming
Is the smell of cut grass
Is it because I am a prisoner of dreams
That this successful thought must be intruded upon?
The imagination runs its hand over a tired old keyboard
And I see myself drifting through the fields
Of a fragrant memory,
The piper's tardy child
Furiously limping toward paradise
With those strangest of twins,
Elation and fear, frozen on my expectant face.
But, merely crippled,
I am left again with the horses.
Steve Fowler was a musician in Los Angeles until stricken with ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) in March 1997. Realizing that the only way to stay alive was to maintain a creative posture, he wrote memoirs, poetry, and a screenplay. Steve died in Los Angeles on August 17, 2010. To hear some of his music and read more of his writings, please visit his website at stevenfowler.com. For more information on ALS , go to als-tdf.org.