Wednesday, September 28, 2005

A Friend’s Perspective
By Ibid.

(A Dark Figure walks up to the podium, clears his throat, and begins)

My friends are all mad
They’re loosing their minds
I’m the only one left
Who’s still sane inside

(He straightens up, adjusting his tie)

I’ve heard them weep tears of pain,
Of hurt, of sorrow, of love, of shame.
Yet, do I feel it? Do I feel their pain?
More than I would if it was just a game.

(He shows the audience his arm, a beaten, bruised sight of regret)

The Mighty Captain, martyr is he,
Who knows life and tries to hide
The gift from the world outside,
For his mind only sees strife.

(The Figure removes his coat and tie, and unbuttons his top button on his shirt)

And blessed is she, a gentle girl,
Whose blood runs hot, twirls over, and curls;
Never blinking an eye for those
Who have left her heart disposed.

(The figure bends over and removes his shoes, setting them aside)

And ancient foundation, an ancient city,
Fights back her mind, and begs for no pity.
Yet I have seen you cry, weep, tear up,
Break down, struggle through, and rise up.

(He takes his socks and throws them to the side)

Simple fruit, you wondrous fuzz,
Your blood flows fast, without beer for buzz.
For it is your family, your blood itself,
That causes your longing to welt.

(He takes his upper shirt off, revealing his undershirt)

A pious ghost, a white hermit.
Your feet are small and hairy,
Your heart is clear, your mind wary,
All glory to you, May angels praise it!

(He walks over to a chair, standing in front of it)

Mia Bella, Buena Serra, Goodnight.
For you are youngest still, yet wise,
Wiser than many still older. Might
We learn a lesson from your brown eyes.

(He turns and faces away from the chair)

Most grain grows tall, yet you stay lower.
Most distances separate, but you draw closer.
We wink and smile, yet are no bolder,
With your independence on you shoulder.

(He sits down)

A tactician’s mind is slower than yours,
For you can do your will; as well
As you deem so. Find the exit, might,
Or yet, you leave your glowing shell.

(He lies back, placing his arms on the armrest)

As for me, I’m done: I’ve run the course.
You have given all so much, I return so little.
Never leave me here. Please carry me home.

(He stands and walks back to the podium)

My friends seem much better now.
Thank you for your time, kind patrons.
We are all together again,
Never more will our hearts bow.

(He bows, picks his clothes, and walks off the stage.)

Fin

1 comment:

  1. Ibid, that is an absolutely amazing poem! I don't even really know what to say.

    ReplyDelete