Another Stirring Poem from Don Iannone

When we were young
we walked ordinary country roads
in search of hopes and dreams.
The road itself didn't matter, really.
Back then
the road didn't even need color,
for we were rainbows ourselves,
following something larger,
something more significant,
than the country roads we walked.

We tolerated the boney dust,
stirred by a lone 57 Ford pickup truck.
Even the hot noonday sun
beating down on our heads
didn't take our minds away
from the river of dreams
that swept us inside,
and away from the world,
where boys walked country roads,
leading nowhere, and yet anywhere
their dreams could take them.

We would do it over again,
that is walk dusty country roads,
if we could be young again,
and if we could be desparately possessed
by dreams that stirred our souls,
and made us feel alive.
After all
what else is there?

Last year, I wrote this column about Don and his poetry-writing. For more of his wondrous words, please visit Conscious Living.