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A demise of salt and dust wakens jerking breath
Of sorrow to give ones life the great taste test,
And a chilly wink surreptones for final chance.
At what? Perhaps another race around the millstone?
Perhaps to hear and to see and to feel again?
Perhaps to find sparkle in a few more crystal instants?
Perhaps to swoop, swagger, sway, and swoon
To the jingling chatter of our mad piper?
Perhaps to exchange silhouettes with
The pattern juggler for a brief synecdoche
Perhaps to pass through moons and Junes unloved?
Perhaps to go forth with my paperclips
And try to get everything together again?
Perhaps to forgo all vanity and perhaps
To find that surface which will strike me
Into fiery action to meet warmth and light?
We take our ration of conceptualizations
And make our concepts of rationalizations,
For it's the face in the glass that is trying to fool us.
But once again it has shattered,
And slivers of truth pierce through
The dearthen crust of self-deception
Who dat say who dat when I say who dat?
Stetson peril chortles huck, and the war goes on.
Drop every fork at each alarm and run.
But each time to come back and eat more garbage.
But to run and laugh free and wild and joyous?
How about you? Free from the strain and twist.
Perhaps to find grace and forgiveness.
Perhaps to take each step upwards and forward.
Not to backslide fearlessly but startle the clots,
Break their barricades, menace their mindlessness,
Throttle their delusions, and give them love.
Perhaps we can open each other's eyes
To the light which is for all.
What individual can lay claim to the truth?
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