A Cage To Hold My Dreams
This Earth Is Mine
This earth is mine and every step I take upon it
nudges me towards the finish
Age nor madness can't diminish
my elation at still being here. I've won it
from a world which tries at every spin
to crush my soul, and wipe the grin
from this old face.
The temptations of a life I had no say
in getting, have been proved false. I was misled
by distorting mirrors which turned my head
from worthwhile dreams. I lost my way,
but yet, intact, my will to fight
has led me stumbling from the night
into sober sunshine.
Eyelids flicker. Bodies break beneath the weight
of life's unreasonable demands
till clasped together, sinewy hands
which long before their scheduled date
lie decomposing. Dust to dust,
memorials to a timeless trust
which asked for nothing.
I still get angry at the fates
which doomed my grave-laid father
whose love for me today lies farther
than Saturn's circling moons. I hope those plates
reflect the peace he has surely found
though deep and hurtful still the wound
left by his leaving.
My brother, son of she who bore me, too,
the product of an earlier seed,
in life's strong winds, a broken reed
whose isolation like a river grew
to burst its banks. Why hide your face
from me ? Is a brother's love too commonplace
for you to want it ?
Ah, memories. Bitter yet the taste they leave
as time wades grimly through the breach
and hoists the treasures above the reach
of outstretched fingers, leaving just a screeve
of pounds and numbers, the add-up cost
of what's been won, and what was lost
along the way.
The path you've taken might be right, but why
you went without a backward wave
is a question which may reach my grave
unanswered. While every cloud across the sky
bears witness to the love I feel,
it shatters me to think that we'll
not break this silence.
My day will come, I hope, to be enjoyed
somewhere between youth's torrid flush
and whenever age begins to rush
my fences screaming. This awkward boy
bereft of purpose, knowing no passion
deserves at least a slender ration
of goods things coming.
What if I'd died before it fell into place
before the wine was correctly chilled,
before my dreams could be fulfilled ?
Who wants to be declared a loser when the race
isn't even started ? If soon this body must decay
I ask you, God, for just one good day
before I leave.
See the spinster with her books of verse
who craves until it almost hurts
for love of any kind, or worse
before the parade moves on forever,
before her last chance disappears
and she takes stock, through bitter tears
and finds theres nothing.
Remember Celia ? Hey, don't shake your head,
we know, despite those terse denials
a black indictment scars those miles
of your adventure. You loved her, so you said,
but when she looked the other way
you thought it would be fun to play
in a new enclosure.
Well, she is the same adorable sight
at the present time as she was then
Now mother, of course, to two fine men,
but it the heat of a summer night
long, long ago, when life was new,
her love, though fresh and clean as dew
was not sufficient.
Remember Dortmund ? Rum and drugs and guitar playing,
prostitutes who fired your blood,
yet, always, that unrest. A flood
of muddled searches, leading nowhere. Saying
this is right, yet in your heart
you knew that you were playing a part
that was slowly killing you.
Where did you start to write ? In a field perhaps,
with water trickling past your feet
and golden corn which stretched to meet
the friendly sky. Was that how finally it was revealed,
defined, at last, a worthwhile role,
a light which shone into your soul
which made the difference.
Tomorrow, it could end, who knows ? But this is real
I've woken up to truth and found
my feet full-square on solid ground
which might support a future. At last, I feel
I'm getting somewhere in my search for peace
and soaring, like a flock of geese,
towards the sunset.
nudges me towards the finish
Age nor madness can't diminish
my elation at still being here. I've won it
from a world which tries at every spin
to crush my soul, and wipe the grin
from this old face.
The temptations of a life I had no say
in getting, have been proved false. I was misled
by distorting mirrors which turned my head
from worthwhile dreams. I lost my way,
but yet, intact, my will to fight
has led me stumbling from the night
into sober sunshine.
Eyelids flicker. Bodies break beneath the weight
of life's unreasonable demands
till clasped together, sinewy hands
which long before their scheduled date
lie decomposing. Dust to dust,
memorials to a timeless trust
which asked for nothing.
I still get angry at the fates
which doomed my grave-laid father
whose love for me today lies farther
than Saturn's circling moons. I hope those plates
reflect the peace he has surely found
though deep and hurtful still the wound
left by his leaving.
My brother, son of she who bore me, too,
the product of an earlier seed,
in life's strong winds, a broken reed
whose isolation like a river grew
to burst its banks. Why hide your face
from me ? Is a brother's love too commonplace
for you to want it ?
Ah, memories. Bitter yet the taste they leave
as time wades grimly through the breach
and hoists the treasures above the reach
of outstretched fingers, leaving just a screeve
of pounds and numbers, the add-up cost
of what's been won, and what was lost
along the way.
The path you've taken might be right, but why
you went without a backward wave
is a question which may reach my grave
unanswered. While every cloud across the sky
bears witness to the love I feel,
it shatters me to think that we'll
not break this silence.
My day will come, I hope, to be enjoyed
somewhere between youth's torrid flush
and whenever age begins to rush
my fences screaming. This awkward boy
bereft of purpose, knowing no passion
deserves at least a slender ration
of goods things coming.
What if I'd died before it fell into place
before the wine was correctly chilled,
before my dreams could be fulfilled ?
Who wants to be declared a loser when the race
isn't even started ? If soon this body must decay
I ask you, God, for just one good day
before I leave.
See the spinster with her books of verse
who craves until it almost hurts
for love of any kind, or worse
before the parade moves on forever,
before her last chance disappears
and she takes stock, through bitter tears
and finds theres nothing.
Remember Celia ? Hey, don't shake your head,
we know, despite those terse denials
a black indictment scars those miles
of your adventure. You loved her, so you said,
but when she looked the other way
you thought it would be fun to play
in a new enclosure.
Well, she is the same adorable sight
at the present time as she was then
Now mother, of course, to two fine men,
but it the heat of a summer night
long, long ago, when life was new,
her love, though fresh and clean as dew
was not sufficient.
Remember Dortmund ? Rum and drugs and guitar playing,
prostitutes who fired your blood,
yet, always, that unrest. A flood
of muddled searches, leading nowhere. Saying
this is right, yet in your heart
you knew that you were playing a part
that was slowly killing you.
Where did you start to write ? In a field perhaps,
with water trickling past your feet
and golden corn which stretched to meet
the friendly sky. Was that how finally it was revealed,
defined, at last, a worthwhile role,
a light which shone into your soul
which made the difference.
Tomorrow, it could end, who knows ? But this is real
I've woken up to truth and found
my feet full-square on solid ground
which might support a future. At last, I feel
I'm getting somewhere in my search for peace
and soaring, like a flock of geese,
towards the sunset.
