Monday, June 9, 2008

Facsimile of a Praise

Hey, there…you
With your face all blue,
Buried in the hard morning grass,
Like it’s grown out of the soft soil
This very deaf morning,
Like all of this myriad while
You had not, really, even been.
But that is what earth speaks.
I say something else,
I see something else.

Now that you're helpless,
They speak of you.

I only see…
Your face all blue.
And in it, a betrothal facing extinction,
Been too long, censored forever,
It now lingers, while it threatens,
In half a beat of his heart,
Can anyone hear him calling?
But that is what she would speak.
I say something else.
I see something else.
Why would you not call for help?
Let her see your face...
The touch of your
Face all blue…
Too tangible for me to grasp,
The muscles are yet so strained,
Drooping eyelashes just brush
The earth ,by now,that is taint.
I feel,in your limp body,your neediness.
And a cry escapes you,
And me too!
You look up, and plea
With your eyes,
And close them again,
Before I let go of your blue face,
In the end,you called for me.
In the end you sought a savior...
In the end... I saved a stranger!

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