Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Our Song--poem

If there was a song deep in my heart
who would it be for
and what would be the point?
Would it be a tribute for good or anger
or to answer the ever-throbbing question:

I wish I knew the words so I could get them off my skin
out of my mind and blood
hiding beneath the scars.
Even if I could compose
a masterpiece or limerick
you wouldn’t gasp in awe
or surprise
at what’s going on inside me.

I have a notion that’s making me ill
And tastes too bitter and still—
you don’t care at all about mind,
body, spirit—of the one who’s writing
these words.

The joke could fasten easily on my shoulders
For I’m mad, yes and disappointment’s
No stranger.

But the punchline
and mainline from my crux to
these words
is I’m affirming my fixation but
doubting the elation
I ever felt
about who this song was written for.

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