there is a knock we all need answer.
yesterday, i bought a piggy bank
to store all my wishes
that one day, when i pull the cork
i can remember what dreams are made of.
today, all i can do is consider myself lucky
for every birthday my great-uncle has lived to see
for every tear we never had to shed
because this life is just too beautiful
and ugly is just a curse we say to people
who haven't found out yet how to say no,
who haven't played their own heart's strings
so they still don't know how to say fuck you to the world
and create their own symphonies
like august rush. who will make me cry today
who has an affair with the moon
who hears music where people hear poverty
who hears music where people meet deadlines
that leave their lifelines thirsty.
and i too have been there.
my mother had to hold my hand constantly
because i thought my life's lines were escaping me
and the only way to keep me sane was to hold them prisoner
but she understood
that sometimes you have to let go,
sometimes you have to go a little fucking crazy to remember
that even though you think you're out of symphonies
your soul still hums the rhythm of your birth
and your feet still tap to the rhythm of evolving
into something more beautiful than the wreckage you
got yourself into.
and yea everyone else can call you phoenix
but honey,
it takes a lot more heart to stay and lick the ashes clean
and i know now that tears are a catalyst for creation.
once, you said nothing is ever finished.
and i believed you then, like i believe now
that things are forever changing and
there may not always be an ending;
there are some thingswe just forget to resolve
and sometimes i revolve, circling the same pathetic
tragedies like i never knew there were other ways to get around you.
tonight, though, i will surround you with the music,
will kneel daily to sing 365 hymns and raise
365 prayers to heaven and ask her to bless
the 365 veins that keep you searching for lifelines,
for birthday parties, for beautiful,even ugly,
for your mother, who whispers i love you3
65 times under her breath
each time she feels your heart breaking.
and i will pray you don't forget
that somewhere, there's something
that's full of dreams
break that, let them free.
© 2009 Marcea L. Brown. All rights reserved.
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