Never let them get to you
let your passion burn.
Even though they shackle you,
it’s what you choose to feel that’s true;
keep your mind away from them
and deep inside, you shall have freedom.
Keep on keeping on,
dance your dance,
sing your song,
move your merry self along.
But resolve grows thin and short
and time is tough and long.
You let them take your soul
so you belong
and never look them in the eye
never yours to reason why
just do as you are told
getting busy growing old.
Get on getting on,
play your game,
sharpen your tongue,
move your wicked self along.
Oh how time has weakened you,
when you were once so strong.
I can feel you forgetting me,
feel myself fading.
Once I flowed through you,
rushing like a river,
slicing great canyons of sorrow
but now that river has stilled
and is slowly freezing solid.
I can feel you moving on,
feel myself falling behind.
Once I walked beside you,
casting a shadow across your heart,
but now that shadow has diffused
and is slowly giving way to a new light.
I can feel you loving again,
feel myself losing my grip.
Once I encompassed your world,
the only thing you believed in,
holding you back from life,
but now that anxiety has dropped away
and is slowly becoming the past.
I can feel a great relief,
feel you living your dreams.
Once I worried you were broken for good,
lost alone forever,
but now you are taking steps anew
and are slowly becoming who you once were.
Sitting here, beneath this aging oak,
- they told me as a child not to do that -
I look out at the rain.
My improvised shelter is no great shakes;
giant drops drum at my scalp
and run, chillingly down my back.
One, two, three, four.
I can’t tell where I’m wet
and which parts are just cold;
all I know is
my rain-coat wasn’t made for this.
Raining so heavy,
all around me looks a strange shade of grey;
the water beats the ground,
splashes growing larger as the level rises.
People lucky enough to be in cars
race past, forging through the floods,
great sheets of water cascading around them,
sending ripples -
no, waves, towards the curb and me.
Thunder deafening now, right above me,
flash and bang hand-in-hand,
nothing to count,
heart of the storm,
nature’s rage all around me.
Twice I think it’s about to subside;
twice its fury redoubles,
as though it’s telling me personally,
it will calm down when it’s good and ready.
It. He. Whatever your take,
there’s real power in the skies,
crashes and flares
shaking the earth,
My tree sways, groans, lists, screams;
my stomach lurches beneath it
- they told me as a child not to do that.