Chapter IV: Awaking in the Rapture Field
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Where are my summer days of a wondering boy?
     there i drank from tepid park fountains
     lost in oblivion while peddling endless
     streets past high school marching bands
     which played proudly.
     there i walked through smalltown alleys
     lost in innocence and daydreams of what
     awaited men who kept their heart strong
     during stormy nights.
  This was my rapture field,
     the sanctuary of its muddied footprints
     hidden beneath tall rows of summer corn.

  Where are my summer days of a wondering boy?
     are they frozen by a cold winters past
     lost in the palette of colors falling
     from trees who have drawn a last warm
     breath of air.
     are they frozen by a cold ghostly fear
     lost in the cover of frost held still
     on rooftops by an Octobers dark night
     which lingers quietly.
  This was my rapture field,
     the whirlwind of its broken promises
     hidden under fallings of blight snow.

  Where are my summer days of a wondering boy?
     i too have awakened in the rapture field
     only to have a bittersweet taste of life
     stagnate amongst the boyhood reflections
     which ripple softly.
     i too have awakened in the rapture field
     only to sow more and more seads before a
     bold winters death reappears to taunt us
     with its cruelty.
  This is our rapture field,
    though we all wish to wonder in summer
    though we all wish to frolic in spring,
    though we all wish to stave off winter
    though we all wish in bucolic fondness-
     so many dream field things.


(c) Copyright 1995 Greg Schilling


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