1998

[perhapsimdreaming]

“Time a Step behind”, 1998

I take a step
And looking back
I think I’m being followed

It has been wound,
That dreaded sound,
“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick tock!”

O how I know
How slow I go
Can not trick this
Quickening foe

It keeps a pace,
In steady race,
And winds me round it’s finger!

O how I know
How slow I go
Can not trick this
Quickening foe

It keeps a pace,
In steady race,
And winds me round it’s finger!

__________________________
“Revolution”, Inspired by “A Tale of Two Cities”, 1998

Time and tide wait for no man,
All things unto their course will run.
The bitter sea in looming dance,
A million wounds open as one.

The dripping faucets long ignored,
Make water rise above the eyes.
Then, blinded, pity made abhorred,
The droplets seek no compromise.

Abused ones abuse their abuser,
Confused by fear and loathing,
And logic dissipates, like looser
Threads from ragged clothing.

Revenge, a slippery prize to hold,
Oft chokes the neck that cursed the chain.
The power bought by virtue sold,
Reaps tainted fruit that kills again.

When nose is cut to spite the face,
The tragic scars plague history.
For blood is blood, more can't erase
The ancient stain's dark mystery.

_________________________________________

"Sound", 1998

There is a perfect sound, somewhere
That lost the cringe of perfection
To ringing ears

It dwindles in the eyes watching
The last glimpse of sunset
Before it sleeps

This sound breaths somewhere
And many blind men know it
And so do the deaf

Some can not hear
Though it has poured upon them
Like rain from heaven

Beautiful rainbows of color
Have slapped them on the face
And they still stare

And some want nothing
Of something so true
Afraid of getting wet

But those who embrace the rains
With soaked-through open arms
Light shimmers off them
Makes rainbows in their hair

And there, the heart is open
Like a blood red rose to the Son
Washed in the showers ‘til dripping
Filth and oil puddles below

There in stillness it begins
A sound, a reverie, a symphony
Like the smoothing over
Of the wrinkles of a wet crumply leaf
And its pure stream rises to heaven
And shimmers like silver and gold water
Light dances within its newness
clean , pure
Sound
----------------

“What is Expected of the Man and the Woman”, 1998

A woman is expected to be the keys on the piano
Delicate and beautiful
Well taken care of
And in tune

Each crisp note a piece of her soul
The moods of her heart
So many notes
So many keys

A man is expected to be the hands which play the piano
He is in charge
He has strength

The sheet music is the window
Through which he sees her
They might start in F major
But she can change to f minor
Before he can read the notes
Her hidden power

He doesn’t always hear her
She often sings silent melodies
He can’t play

If I were a man
I would wish I was the piano
Knowing the secrets
Hidden freedoms
Where the unexpected
Is expected.