For me, it's been just over 37 years since I came home, and still the dreams come back sometimes, though not nearly so often now. Last night was one of those times, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom. Anyway, I wrote this today, searching for some answer. I don't suppose I found it, and I suspect I never shall. Keep the laughter to a dull roar, please! That Which Only Was In the dark and calm of night we glimpse again The scenes we left so long ago . . . As if they were not merely recollection, But some insidious power, yet unstilled, Within our struggling minds. Our souls cry out . . .silently . . . with anguish, Ensnared within a past that no longer “is,” Yet somehow remains reality still . . . But only in the dark and calm of night, When the shadows of all that went before, Ooze forth their malice upon our souls. The dreams! The dreams! Will not they cease? Does time not heal the lesions of the soul . . . Or only wounds of the fleeting body? The poet said we live “as on a darkling plain,” But is that place, that thing we call “reality,” Not only now, but then?