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| photo by Kevin Bauman © |
another love story (for Boston)
say,
would any of you spare some dimes
for
a brother down on his luck
chances
are
nothing
will matter
if I
let myself bleed out
to
go the way whispers
carry
messages through eons
windy
knives
remembering
names
as
long as a rock
can holds
itself
against
erosion
I
might only need
a
mirror, warm ripe passion
mere
flesh, a harvest opportunity
I
have taken a path through the perilous fight
I
watch the ramparts tear flesh from bones
I
leave the scattered, remnants of my humanity alone
I
scrape together enough shock to watch television broadcasts
I
fireside chat with ghosts walking for words to find
I
silently capture my scurried thoughts behind veneers
behind
my distraught faces mouthing who, why, with what aim
is
this world leaning toward no second chances, all blame
is
there no remorse, no way around ratcheting up violence
as
the universal language replacing love
why
do I pine for love
why
do I thirst for it
why
do I dig for it
why
do I build for it
why
do I hope and pray for it
why
do I write and paint words for it
why
do I dance for it
why
do I eat with smiles and clang glasses for it
why
do I seek its solace in me, when I am a broken desperate for it
why
do I knead its algorithms into my memories, rising its heartbeats
why
do I seek a salvation of time when art hits the nail on the head
why
do I key stone arch myself against the Sun
why
do I still want to know if I am human
why
do I still want to know if need for love
comes
without words or images or the articulated sculptures
of
the mechanical world that mimics my movements
why
do I still want to know if being lost is eternity outside love's embrace
why
do I run these races, a rabbit in warrens, quarreling to be
another
secular vision or faith revised, triumphantly claiming inherency
why
do I want to know how to cool down, humanity on fire
am I
part machine
why
do I want know if I am on fire too
am I
capable of burning everything down
why
do I only want to feel rain, sometimes
why
do I know there is not a throne that can salve this empty
why
are there fewer warm homes to go to
why then, when all else fails
is
welcoming folks in and out
of
my life
the
only poem
the
only home
the
only thing
that
matters
to
me
why...
EJR ©
This is beautiful and I wouldn't ask why - love and the people who wander both in and out of your life are the only things that really matter.
ReplyDeleteyes...
DeleteBeautiful tribute... And a lot more than that.
ReplyDeleteThe passion behind this poem infuses every line, every plea, every question. Why, why, why? Strong stuff in response to yet another senseless act of violence.
ReplyDeleteI asked myself the same thing too, why ~
ReplyDeleteI specially like this part:
windy knives
remembering names
as long as a rock
can holds itself
against erosion