Symphony in A minor

No melody unchained.
Words, even.
I have dreamt of this song and its melody escapes me.
Streaming images of you through a trap door like a silent movie

The melody begins.
“Hmmm, hmm hmmmmm. Hmmm, hmm hmmmmm.”
Here, it seeps through the luminescent cracks of my ear drum
Piercing cries, violins, horns and cello;
Transformations occur.

I have to now close my eyes to hear the melody before it escapes.
“Hmmmm. Hmm, Hmmmmm….”
Lady speaks blue. Man sees red.
And, I’d like to write my love in amazing yellow.
Daffodil and marigold letters fall from the sky.
Sends my message….”hmmm hmm hmmmm”

The melody, recaptured.
And with eyes opened, wide, our sights set upon the sound and the fury.
The music and the lyrical gesture of your hand awaken the words.

Terminate the mystery. Animate the colors. Manage to survive.
We are the team of you and me; the desert and the sea.
Progressing in harmonious blissfulness, enriched in delight.

For once the bow strokes the string; vibrations streak the air in their voluptuous curves
And waits to be clothed in blues and grays; browns and reds, orangey nectarine.

The melody continues; through and through.

A Time to Reflect

So, in my attempt to spark some inspiration for new poetry I found most of my old poetry from high school and college - mostly from college and after. It seems that I used to live in a very dark place-physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Praise God for deliverance. 

In reading these old yet familiar verses I find myself, then, seeking answers to questions I really had no desire to find. Themes of unrequited love, death, immortality, survival, etc haunted my past and undoubtedly has tried to haunt my present and my future. The dark places I used to dwell upon are no longer fear factors in my life because fear is NOT a factor. Anymore.

There’s a bit a fantasy in these verses as well. Dreams of flying and of mystical creatures plotting to take over my existence. Essentially the demons of my childhood surfaced and writing about them, making them real to other people was my only defense and my only hopes to defeating them. Only to find out that these demons were actually just me. 

"Blinded by the darkness, I feel empty.Every morning is the same.Little rocks beating against life’s canvas as we hear loud shots behind the swirling of the voices-the rocks.At once, the swirling stops-and the shots-I hear, no more.As I step outside the emptiness, there before me are four slain bodies-one of which I do not recognize.Two of the slain are similar in size and appearance.They begin to chant"We’ve no sin." "Set us free!" While the other slain body, pale in color, with lone chestnut hair, with a touch of life in his eyes, cast out his voice, saying-"The fighting is over now. You can rest. In peace, take care."His spirit then left him gladly, I thought.The armistice was loud and clear. But as for the other slain body…Who was he?Curly black hair, big brown eyes-Was he me? Blinded by the darkness, feeling empty-The swirling begins again…"

Clearly, the above description is about my own self doubt and how I always got in my own way, to purposely sabotage my happiness and my success and my growth as a spiritual being. At least, looking back and remembering the EXACT moment I wrote “Was He Me?” —I was in high school and during this specific time I was dealing with several inner demons. I was my own worst enemy. I was fighting my insides so much and so often that everything else was neglected. Friends. Family. School and my responsibilities there. Everything in my life was crumbling, or seemed to be yet I never let anyone in. The “swirling” was my own confusion about what was happening in my life at that time. I felt out of place. Awkward. Alone. Weakened. So, when my grades in school began to suffer my parents made me get a tutor. She began to work with me on my various subjects and homework and discovered that I was a smart young man and she didn’t understand why my grades were dropping and why I needed a tutor, although she could sense something else was going one. She asked me what my favorite subject and club were at school. I told her that I enjoyed when we studied poetry and that Writer’s Inc was my favorite club.

That’s all my tutor needed. She then asked me to write her a poem. She didn’t give me many specifics. All she said was, “I want you to write me a poem about how you see yourself in your school environment.” And thus, “Was He Me?” was birthed…..