I remember writing 'Las Vegas' on Christmas Day back in 1990. It was, and is, one of my favourites and the backstory I developed behind the poem still gives me a sad smile when I think about it today. It is a love story of a love who died before her time, forever preserved in black and white celluoid. Why an eighteen year old was having those thoughts I have no idea but I'm glad I did.

Las Vegas
 
Still moving
After all of those years
Trapped on film
In motion.
Pictures of a youthfulness
That has long since
Run away, with your fear
Of a black room.
Late into the night I sit
Watching pictures of the same movies,
Watching pictures of an old you
Trapped in re-run
And a slave to slow-mo,
There’s nothing I can do
To stop my memories
In a time, that has long forgotten you.
Keeping visions of my yesterdays,
Of my yesteryears,
Close to me, close to my heart,
But the memories still shine through
With hurt and pain,
With a feeling of loss,
Without you.
Late into the night I sit
Watching pictures of the same movies,
Watching pictures of a young me,
Watching pictures of an old you.
Watching pictures,
It’s how I remember.
Watching pictures.
I remember you
But now you’re lost
And trapped in re-runs
And a slave to slow-mo.
And the memories hurt.
There’s nothing I can do
To change my yesterdays,
To change our yesteryears.
We’re just slaves together,
But trapped apart,
And I remember you
In Las Vegas
As the reel stops.

 

LAS VEGAS
By A R J Abranson
25-12-90/17:07
(Taken from 'Wild Card Symphonies')