Let the banjo play mister & the drums too.
Let them pitch the ship of my body into the sea,
surge my soul to crest the waves,
then let them leave me bereft like detritus
& when the keel has soaked enough of this life,
let me drown. Tender lover play me like a tambourine.
Like the chorus girls of the 60s,
let my smile deceive you.
Let my windmill arms carry the wind of your laughter up & about.
& when i tell you that i am doing fine,
that this twitching itching skin is not a symptom of withdrawal
from my addiction to life,
believe me. O father bless me with the absence of your voice.
That i have not fulfilled your dreams is enough horror.
Let the whip of your sadness not break this skin.
It is the only thing standing between me & torment.
It is the only wall i have against the torrent of abuse
that this beautiful life can give.
Let the piano filter the rain
& if the violin can,
let it escort the gong unto the stage.
Let the song float on its own trauma.
Let the audience wipe their eyes dry.
Let the dust know the powerlessness of flight.
If you can, instruments of a dying bird,
play my heart into silence.
O mother, many winged goddess of weary womb,
see me falter into shadows,
see the teeth of darkness chew the bone of night
& the bone dry sea of your long ago tears
flit from flower to flower seeking the honey of laughter.
What prayer do you have for me?
Which god have you offered my name,
succulent as chicken bone to,
seeking healing for wound inside me that has no name
in your many tongued war with life.
& if i still tremble on the floor,
my limbs still tortured with memory,
hold me still like an anchor in the deep.
Let us watch the seagulls fly by.
Let us watch the sun settle in the belly of the sea.
Let this life come with all its promises.
Let it be full to the brim with deceit.
Let me believe it one last time.
Let it be cruel unto my bones if it can
then let me go.
Amin.
Always,
Osahon (Warpedpoetic)
