Where are you? And how?
And who's the mocking one now?
Are you naked in your tomb,
Or rotting away, just like my mother in your womb?
Do you ever think at all,
Of how I've changed ... Not the youngish-
Smallish-hounded grandson but tall,
To you anyway,
Staring down, 6 feet over where your grounded.
« Oh am I now? »
You started long before me,
The tearing up and letting down
(how very extreme you used to be)
Your lengthened artist's hands
The milky neck of innocence
Squeezing happiness to the pulp:
My mother fled to father lands.
What lies below you now, but Hate?
The blanket that kept you warm all these years,
Now ripped and torn and wet with tears
Don't worry, not mine.
Your world now:
A dark tunnel with no light at the end,
Just a shade of gray
(The wounds that you will never mend).
Yet it all came rushing back,
Past newer thoughts, the battles I'd fought,
And time, the great forgiver of old and new,
But not as old as you.
It all came back: the only beauty you ever gave me.
Music, Mendelson, misty violin
Quivering from a clumsy stutter to a climax of pride strength
and all the better
World of emotions come undone, swirling to life
In dancing, loving shapes (Perfection's wife)
The horns of heaven blowing down the tune,
From the sky and above, even the moon,
The fountain of perfect noise, a greater language,
Bellowing intertwined sounds, a perfect chime,
The cd player packed up.
Realising there's a tear in my eye...
Where are you granny?
It's my birthday soon. Did you forget?
And why did you never love me?