idle contemplation turns to reverie
sitting perched above the world
on a makeshift pedestal
he always said there was room
for a little mental marination.
early she mastered the ability to be
lost in the colour blue,
the word euphoria,
a cup of coffee
'til it only took an instant to be
dreaming soft dreams of 3-day road trips,
lurid summers of fiddles and beads
the rhythm-step of dancers
-and luna moths-
still living life second-hand
through the screen of a computer, darling?
"tell me:
do you love it when
snow
breaks moon's waning heart?"
talking to him these days
brings little reprieve.
seeing with the eyes of one afraid to be damned
he said:
"what if i'd rather not believe?"
as if i could tell him
there were any more assurances
on this side of the line.
do we so idly cast aside our faiths?
oh, yes,
let's all gather 'round
the funeral pyre of our dreams
fling them on the fire
ignore their pleading screams...
makes me think of falling stars,
and torn-up paper dolls
he kneels before me
a victim of mainstreet realism
(mass-market intelligence at its worst)
am i to crucify myself for him?
stoop to pull free the stumbling horde at my feet?
or run madly through them,
bent on saving only myself?
oh how do these thingshappen
when i only strive to attain
their wriggling shadows?
restless creature
pushing against the confines of her cell
feeling acutely each out-of-place
word-phrase-thought-idea-picture-belief-soul
sh. close your eyes, dear one,
rest your weary, anxious mind
and sleep easy in the silence of the swans.
©1999 m. hughes
