Merrily Along We Go
a reflection of the life he leads, and a painful memory of what I am trying to escape
Walking shiftlessly and aimlessly through the dark and rat infested alleys with my head high in the clouds, thinking that everyone should feel the same as me.
Not seeing the black faces watching me, trying to forget where I had been and at the same time remembering that what I was actually seeing was a reflection of myself yet to come.
That’s right, merrily along we go, not seeing anything, but the things we wanted to see. The ice man, riding through the streets in his rumbling wagon, old wooden and splintered.
His horse, a reflection of the life he leads, and a painful memory of what I am trying to escape. The back sagging, and the mane falling in spots, revealing the wrinkled skin.
The makings of time manifesting itself in a much too painful presence.
Merrily along we go.
— C.R.G - March, 14, 1970
