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Beer Bubbles

When I was young I hated beer bubbles

Like my dislike for thunder and lightning

And stray dogs and old men looking for trouble;

But when you are not young anymore

Beer bubbles mean something more.

More than the unspoken dream of a lonely prisoner

Captured by an institution of "you should" and "should not"

Nor the closing of the door left opened for long

Beer bubbles are rainbow-colored scheme of things to come

Of "should I" or "should I not?"

Beer bubbles are music of some silent hearts too shy to cry

Or some lullabyes now unheard of by a newly-born babe

Or some prelude to a goodbye or a post autumn song

In a dimly-lit pub, somewhere between heaven and earth

Where some confused souls find refuge and strength.

When you grow old, beer bubbles are some rhythmic patterns

Of a small dream in a bigger scheme of things

Of parting friends and choices to make

Of roads diverged in some holy crossroads

Which step do I take?

November 12, 2007