I had a dream this morning, for some reason I was in the midst of efforts to prevent and or clean up from flooding. Then my mind narrowed into a victim of a flood, a young man who at first seemed to be grieving the loss of his ATV which had been parked in the garage but which had been swept away by the flooding. Then a Country Western song came into my head that I believe hasn't been written yet.
Here it is
He stands there watching as the floods sweep it all away
The thrills and rides, his hopes and dreams are gone
Let the water take it all away, it doesn't matter
all is gone
She lay right there
and his daddies eyes
Let it disappear
let it sweep away
His thoughts are churning as he stands on the bay street bridge
his father is man enough to take the blow
Should he give it all away, what does it matter?
hope is gone
She lay right there
and his daddies eyes
Let it disappear
let it sweep away
Son of Abraham, he gasps for breath
drowning now
being swept away
He stands there watching as the floods sweep it all away
His fathers arms grasp a hold of him to stay
Let the water take it all away, it doesn't matter
she's still right here
Son of Abraham, let it sweep away
take your first deep breath
she'll be right there
**All right this is as close as I can get to the song that was randomly playing in my head. Somehow it doesn't come out quite the same when trying to put it down onto the screen.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Possibly Impossible
Real, what is real?
Is it the dream of desperation in the night?
Searching for the road that will lead to safety,
out of the darkness into the light,
confusion, swirling mists, anger released, anger betrayed
All is silent, no pending opportunity awaits
except to write, write like a mad woman
stay up all hours of the night
with the clock ticking the seconds
till the dawn when the reality of possibility becomes impossible
and my words become swallowed in absurdities
where I grasp at the branches of my family tree
and find that I have been wandering in volcanic ash, in lava
stepping ever so carefully down the path where no one will follow
the only way is forward, each glance behind costs me
so I shut off my emotions
and the death of the scrawny kitten rouses a pittance of the sympathy with which it deserves.
I need to sail
I need to write become so quick at my craft
that I can produce the torrent of logical illogical masses of words
to feed my family the bread of substance.
Or else search among the meager crumbs of employment
to lock myself in a cage, a cage and I need to do it and be good at it
I need to understand the mysteries of pomp and circumstance
or else idly wander in the streets with the lonely voice of the lost angel
a messenger of mercy from a God who exists, the glimmering hope of my last cry.
I wrote this I believe towards the end of 2009 before I was able to find a job. It kind of makes me nostalgic that I could write so passionately, though it is the sweat of desperation that drives me to write like this sometimes. I still feel somewhat the same way about employment... ;)
Is it the dream of desperation in the night?
Searching for the road that will lead to safety,
out of the darkness into the light,
confusion, swirling mists, anger released, anger betrayed
All is silent, no pending opportunity awaits
except to write, write like a mad woman
stay up all hours of the night
with the clock ticking the seconds
till the dawn when the reality of possibility becomes impossible
and my words become swallowed in absurdities
where I grasp at the branches of my family tree
and find that I have been wandering in volcanic ash, in lava
stepping ever so carefully down the path where no one will follow
the only way is forward, each glance behind costs me
so I shut off my emotions
and the death of the scrawny kitten rouses a pittance of the sympathy with which it deserves.
I need to sail
I need to write become so quick at my craft
that I can produce the torrent of logical illogical masses of words
to feed my family the bread of substance.
Or else search among the meager crumbs of employment
to lock myself in a cage, a cage and I need to do it and be good at it
I need to understand the mysteries of pomp and circumstance
or else idly wander in the streets with the lonely voice of the lost angel
a messenger of mercy from a God who exists, the glimmering hope of my last cry.
I wrote this I believe towards the end of 2009 before I was able to find a job. It kind of makes me nostalgic that I could write so passionately, though it is the sweat of desperation that drives me to write like this sometimes. I still feel somewhat the same way about employment... ;)
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