| Song of the Ordinary I Speck of paint fixed upon the onyx velvet curtain It screams the loudest of all the specks of the Mighty Stage �Onward!� it hollers, �On with the play!� � On with joy, on with laughter, on with sorrow, on with eternal rotations of heavenly bodies� Transfixed I stay on the tiny dot of ivory hope, listening to wisdom it doles out for a minute�s respect IT sooths the anxiety and quickens the heart just as if it cares not Equanimity, the stage demands A sarcastic denial retorts the paint speck Only love life demands of it�s actors Only LOVE! Shouts the speck of ivory-colored paint II Frame of tree remnants, why do you sing? � I have a purpose!� It replies without a smidgen of hesitation � I am better than the empty bottle, better then the barbells that lay idle on the dresser, better then the discarded candy-wrapper� �How does that hold true?!� The man declares. Together on this earth United in the room In the realm of the girl Retaining memories like heat to the sun III The color of a bruise but the heart of the kindest angel and the sole as sturdy as the superlative mountain Straps caress the sensitive skin protecting the feet The shoe with its utile straps and its foreign origin, Squeaking so sincerely, � My place is not among books, or tiles, or off-white walls, or barbaric scholars or man-made rules!� Only the bay tames me! Only the gentle wind calling to the sail! Only the tiller demanding to be mastered! Only the menacing jibe! Only the temptation of a small ripple of wind lines! Only the natural collage of sand and rocks! Only the definitive law of nature can contain me! The sandals beseech to the world. IV Confined inside the purple and white splashed journal Lies the soul of a writer Ink fuses with the processed tree, too transformed from bleaching and slicing to utter words of resistance The soul of the world lies through the writer Unsuccessful the factory was It could not bind the words to the page Seeping out for the masses The writer is not the creator Not the interpreter Not the illustrious hero Not the undaunted soul Not the holder of the celestial bodies For that remains in the soul of words written on the page BACK HOME |