| Bind Up My Life A Work in Progress Page 10 |
| Complaint A thunderstorm of thoughts comes rolling in with the night. The wind chimes protest their innocence to the accusatory wind. And I in the darkness with my cigarettes and gin Ponder the shapes forming there on the horizon- Trying to wrap them in colored paper words And bows of double meaning. But with the redeeming light of morning, The crisp clarity of day I see my packages All glum and bleak. Here on this path The tap, tap, tapping of the woodpecker Steady rhythms of a world Devoid of ledger sheets Of the year to come. Here all is timeless � Here all is double meaning There stands the cedar Medusa Head of snakes writhing before me And beyond, the fallen soldier Raised torso on one long arm Waiting to be taken back to the womb The landscape littered with mosses and needles Vibrant green against the brown. A crow announces me and a heron replies. Two redbirds stop their searching to watch me pass. I am an outsider to this timelessness And yet I am allowed to be enveloped by it. Walk this path � we don�t care. The water runs whether I am there or not. The flowers bloom their bright little faces And the ferns peek their heads up through the dead leaves. Come and go as you please � We will sing with the waterfall just the same. |
| A rush of wind through the basin Causes the trees to creak and mutter their complaints. The landscape strewn with their bones � Broken, twisted, No longer able to cling to the limestone cliff. There is no weeping They know well the journey back to the womb. It is their destiny And amid the complaints they whisper their prayers They will enjoy the sunshine while it lasts. They will enjoy the bird song while it lasts. And so will I as I make my way up the ridge Past the stump forever looking on in horror At the rest of his majestic being laying there Horror struck, mouth agape, frozen in time. But its really just me making it so Like Medusa and the dying soldier I translate them all and melt within them And they into me Here on this trail After the storm clouds have gone In the morning�s grace. |
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