Mussel boat arrive –
shells splashing the bay.
I run and run,
run away –
forfeit right to cool ocean air –
Gull wings splash the sun –
as blinding bits of angels –
their choking calls
like jungle drums –
beating into me –
choking my heart –
out of tune
confusing the metronome
of who I am today –
the man once known
by so few –
I run upon the broken shells
beaches littered like glassy hell.
Blood soaked sands of yesterday
seep into the blistered soles
of my weathered toes –
Like little foreigners
looking up at me –
their yellowing scarred
window panes – scratched
and ragged – catching –
raping time for what it is –
A death so certain –
where I lay
discarded china doll –
ceramic shards on shells –
long forgotten –
China dolls feel no pain.
Ebenezer saw his own grave –
placid yellow hues against
the pointing finger of faceless
hood. Stretched stone of soft marble
that would run smooth after
centuries storm, anonymous grave
melting into the abyss of earth,
alone, nothingness, forever.
Fools be gone, and what butcher’s
prized goose is valued more than
serenity, chains and all – only
to sink us deeper into bliss.
World be gone. Tiny Tim better off.
The chains are what hold us here.
Of life and love and destiny –
all things beyond our remedy.
For naught but single flame alone
burnt down the greatest all of Rome.
Those eyes who sifted through the ash –
mere spectators to the very last.
Now we, who carry the torch anew –
believe ourselves able and true –
As though we have found some cure
to reign destiny as our whore….
In the end it shall be unleashed –
that we are but ineffectual beasts.
And as well it shall come undone –
as glory and satan sing our song….
Peons we are unto destiny’s chart –
following its orders with sturdy heart.
Only fools will come to finally know –
our efforts are fruitless as driven snow.
We do not choose our love, nor our very life.
Destiny rules our lot – from happiness to strife.
So sing a song, my young friend –
let it sail into the wind.
Be yourself happy in whatever returns……
Spectators merely see, and never yearn.
If Heaven’s path were made for one
and nere choice but to walk alone
then I wonder what should become
of my absence in God’s lovely home…
For surely I would stop on the path
to admire the birds and bees…
and dance within the machair fields
among cattails and other weeds…
Certain I’d climb the aiten bush-
soft tendrils caressing me…
I should fancy not to be in a rush –
so then climb the cherry trees.
Then on down to find the pond,
feed all the ducks in a row,
and hope that I brought along
my trusty fishing pole.
Sure to pass the basketball hoop,
where I’d want to shoot a few,
and hope Heaven’s path is a loop,
so I can do it all with you.
For if your house is on the way,
Then I’d never find dear Heaven.
As we would hold hands all the day,
and eat cookies from your oven.
And I’d kiss your cheek and declare my love,
for all of God’s eternity.
Heaven can wait – so what if I’m late?
I’d rather spend it with thee…
For without you there, t’would be quite contrare –
as Heaven would not Heaven be.
Young boy, young man,
heart always at play….
Young heart, young love, til end,
but a stone’s throw away.
Skip, little rock,
across the water’s way.
skip to the other side,
on this longest,
Carry my heart along the way.
Until I be old, and lonely,
and unable to say,
what wonders your love
brought my way –
the loveliest day.
Promises? To keep?
To be lost or swept away?
I promise only this;
love shall always live in my heart.
You are welcome a day –
Mine will always be –
the loveliest day.