Monday, July 12, 2004

For a Hero

I guess I’ll never know what you really think of me
I thought I knew that you respected me and my opinions
You believed I was talented and true
And now I don’t know
Your vision of me has changed, as mine did of you
Only in your fall from a marble pedestal you became
So much more real, delightfully sincere in my new eyes
Someone I respected, not idolized
Someone I could relate to as a mentor, not a preacher
But perhaps you didn’t like to take that fall
You didn’t realize that you became a champion
Herakles, Perseus, Bellerophon, Jason, Ulysses
Ancient heroes were not Gods but men
And as a man you are much more to me
I pose questions only to those from whom I wish to know
Tell me what happened where did our understanding go
And can time heal need we prove ourselves again
My mind is tangled with regret.
And so I pray those lips which spoke so much
Of the beauty of my words and the manner of the world
Will not seal themselves to me
But rather kiss me again with compassion
And breathe to me new inspiration
I pray that hand which wrote so many messy words
Of admiration for my truth and the splendor of a single phrase
Will not lay clutched beside the pen
But rather take my arm and lead me to new worlds
And touch my fading heart with faith
And I pray the man I found in you will unearth the truth you found in me
And I pray that you who helped me find my voice
Will hear my song again and help me learn it in a different key
So I may grow and glimmer anew
A brilliant star in a vast night sky
Knowing that a wise old moon keeps his watch over me
And will nod his encouragement when I’m not sure how to shine.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

The Angels of Los Angeles

The Angels of Los Angeles are dying
They are becoming blank-eyed and tired of life
On the streets and in the tracts and mansions throughout this place we call home
The youth are getting bored.
Prepackaged everything at hand no need for each other anymore
Leaves them detached from life in an unhealthy way
They look for trouble to pass the time which seems oddly to repeat itself
Day after languid dismaying day
Same lessons same buildings same roads same people
And when nothing seems to change and gossip is the most interesting of news they rebel
And the old white men shake their heads and wonder why so many nasty things go on.
The middle aged and boxed-in rush to make it seem as if they had much to do
Traffic gets worse because they always drive as if they’re late for the last train to Paradise
Gone are the days of open roads and wind flooding through sea-foam green convertibles
Gone is the knowledge that Paradise will wait.
But there are yet some with the fire in their eyes
There is a boy now on the street with that blaze in baby blues
A smile plays on his lips and his skin glows with hopes and dreams and aspirations
He walks along, one strolling in a hurried world
Watching from the middle of it all and soaking it in and making decisions for his future
He will live at his own pace instead of losing the simple beauties that nothing can destroy
The ballet of cars on the highway and the faces of the poets in the clouds and the way the pretty girl with freckles blushes down her neck when someone whistles at her.
He will not forget the simple truths that so many have let slip away
How smiles are contagious and love is wide-eyed and children are the most honest of all
And he has a sudden secret smile that no one seems to understand
For he knows that in every moment something gorgeous is about to happen
And when he’s lived a life of dreams without losing the simple things
We will rejoice
For one more Angel will be saved.