Dreamless (Inspired by SITB's "The Fear")

The want to want
Is the most American indeed.
The Dream, the Life,
Isn’t really what you end with,
But want you want along the way,
And how hard you can want it.

But what are we left with,
If young people woke up,
To the realization
That they’re too scared
To Dream a Life,
Let alone, live the Dream.

How would our arrogance fare,
If our kids, accidentally, learned
That not knowing, not Dreaming,
Valued equal with (God-sent) work,
And the world stills turns.

But the want to Dream,
Is that a Right, or a load?
What does a child possibly want,
Who has no dream of The American Life?

The Fear

The Fear

They tell me to run
they tell me to hide
they tell me to bottle up
everything inside.
But maybe that's too easy.

They tell me she's a kidnapper,
they tell me he's a crazed rapist,
the tell me they are the enemy.
But again, maybe that's too easy.

They tell me they hide in the shadows
They tell me they pray our souls
they tell me beware of the Black Man,
and Hispanic man,
or any man, for they are as dark as crows.

They tell me to fear Him
They tell me society is at war
They tell me condoms make girls into whores.
Really? But they say, buying makes this all go away.

They tell me that boys are dirty
They tell me the City lies
The tell me that we should be afraid of those,
of whom we call Queer.

These are moans and cries, of people suffocating from the fear.

SITB

What a Sap is My Dear Sweet Moon!

But where does the moon go on her day off?
What daydreams keep her shining?
Does she travel to places far and foreign?
Or sit with a sick Grandmother, congested with Novas?
Maybe she has a fling,
With that Sweetheart from Jupiter,
What was her name?
Maybe she takes off her uniform,
And falls fast into sleep.
Or maybe she’s at a friend’s funeral,
Weeping in silence, in the darkness she’s left.
Maybe she took a day to clean the Atmosphere,
Or to putt a few meteors in empty space.
Maybe she had to have dinner with the family,
Sitting in a circle that tightens as the girths expand.
Maybe she writes poetry about the places she visits,
And the quiet that falls when she’s up at night.
Or maybe, just maybe,
She sings a lullaby to a saddened child,
And rocks them to sleep with her sweet obscured smile.
And goes back to work the next day,
After very little sleep, smiling just the same.

My Special Girl

She heard a name,
it belonged to her,
or did it belong to me?
We'd become intertwined now, sitting on this hill, where the grass glows green.
I'm filled with her,
or is she filled with me?
We both share my mind, heart, and body. I am not done with her.
She called out,
Or did I?
Her voice was strangely but invitingly familiar.
My heart fluttered,
or was it hers?

The sun is low now, and she is almost done, a birth of the ages,
I sit here now, as she fills my pages.

SITB

Andrew

And then I remembered it all
after all these years,
your pompous snarl
the cries that escaped my tears.

Your eyes so bright and black
almost like water,
how I yearned to be yours
and hold the key to the golden daughter.

Your hands cream white
across the sands of time,
I remember your truth
wanting it to be mine.

I remember the pain you gave
too scared and scarred to see what you did
behind your eyes you hide,
behind me you hid.

The lies you held,
as I gave them life for you to tame,
you held them tight
the closest thing to me you held claim.

I remembered the betrayal
that both could see,
but now I understand,
it came from me.

I remember the things,
you begged me not to do,
I'll forget him,
but I'll always remember you.

SITB

Originality

I want to do something new.

I want to be different, but I’m just the same.

There are only so many words,

And I have nothing new.

So I will write what everyone else has written

In hopes that someone will read it,

Who hasn’t read anything else yet,

And I will be their First.

And they will want to do what I do.

And that will be the closest thing to new

I can ever do.



clr