Chasing Horizons

The blind man is standing there, playing his instrument.
Does he not see?
The men accoutered in their sharp, snazzy suits --
Their black asian hair streaked with bronze or blonde
Or red or mahogany or blue,
Slicked back with designer gel to last the entire day --
How, from him, they contrived to turn their gaze away
By looking ahead at the looming passage of the underpass
Or at the flashy ads that interchange behind the glass.
Their chins up high, briskly walking;
Does he not see they could just be pretending?
Or are they really chasing their horizons -- relentlessly pursuing
The wrong dreams, the wrong things?
Oh! But he is blind!

These slit-eyed men in their sharp, snazzy suits;
Do they not see?
There is no need to divert their glances away from him.
For his blank eyes cannot possibly judge or be prejudiced
Against people he cannot possibly see.
If he cannot look into the distance, what horizons can he pursue?
But the hope that some people with empathy -- or a dollar or two --
Would stop and listen to his (sometimes tuneless) tired song.
Is that too much to ask for? Is that wrong?
His chin up high, bravely waiting;
Do they not see, his life is still worth living?
His limited boundaries are not his undoing.
He isn't begging for fancy things.
Or are they also blind?

The blind man has stopped playing his instrument.
His song has ended.
But the men in their sharp, snazzy suits are briskly walking --
Chasing their horizons.

The Looking Glass

Throw down your mantle of pride and discard your armor of vanity
Come with me and look into the looking glass,
Let me tell you what I see.

I see a boy, standing there, where your reflection should be.
His eyes agleam with bold audacity,
Proud and erect, his stance forbids sympathy.
With shades on head that bespeaks of “cool” fashion,
His swaggered walk and baritone draw much attention.
But I know him, this boy,
Whose impish, careless ways sometimes hover on the brink of tyranny;
There is something fragile concealed beneath his forced dignity.
What does he try (in vain) to hide?
His secret fears, deep inside?
Peer now into the looking glass ― the façade is breaking.
Now stands a lost orphan.
Do you know him?

Do you know this boy standing where your reflection should be?
His heart hungry for human affection,
Alone and afraid, his dreams are often in confusion.
Sometimes he could do nothing but watch as life passes him by
Yet at other times he is running and his hopes are flying high.
So you know this boy;
There are too many clues here for you to remain ignorant.
But do you concede these things that I have made apparent?
Are these untruths you can’t abide?
Or plain facts you can no longer hide?
Step back from the looking glass ― the image is fading.
Now stands someone else.
You are him.

Equip now yourself with compassion replete with empathy.
Come bring me to the looking glass
Tell me what you see.

Where Cruel Winter Winds Blow

I walk along the silver streets where the aspen leaves are falling.
In the rain the lamplights cast a warm and misty glow.
But these familiar things I notice not, nor where-to I am heading;
For in my heart lies a barren land where cruel winter winds blow.

In my dreams of yesterday, blooms a memory like a newborn rose.
There I held my lover's hand in ramblings under a moonlit sky.
Sweet harmonies graced the air in this land my mind hath froze.
But like all the flowers I've ever known, I'll watch this rose wither and die.

Yet still I hold my breath when the vision slips into my mind, unintended --
Of a shy, stolen kiss on upturned cheek, and a warm, tender embrace.
And there in the darkness of the night, my heart suddenly flies unshackled.
And in the wayside trees the resting raindrops glow like hidden stars amazed.

Oh how briefly, how soon, must this heart once more return to its barred home;
Once more chained by loops of loneliness, its wings clipped and shorn.
How it hurts, to love one with all your might but know that your heart stands alone;
To have your dreams and hopes denied, cast aside, ripped and torn.

Where do these dead dreams go; in what never-land, will their souls reside --
Once they vanish from your hand like snow melted by sunlight?
Is it to where discarded reveries hang thick and empty castles on clouds abide?
Before, aglitter with hope and promise; now, filled with despair and blight?

The world goes on turning, oblivious to the tragedies of my life.
It makes each passing day, each waking moment, a pain I must surpass.
But how do broken hearts heal? How do broken hearts survive?
Maybe they only mend imperfectly -- like pieces of shattered glass.

So now I walk these streets again where the aspen leaves are falling.
In the rain the lamplights cast a warm and misty glow.
But these familiar things I care not, nor where-to I am going;
For my lonely heart, shall always be where cruel winter winds blow.

Song For A Beggar Boy

Sleep away, sleep away my little beggar boy;
Forget all your worries and your woes.
In deepest slumber may you find the joy
You sorely miss in your waking hours.

Dream away, dream away, my little one;
Sweet and tender may your idle visions be.
Neither cruel winters nor blistering sun,
Will now mar the dreams you dare to dream.

In dreaming you shall escape the storms that rage around you,
But you fly, unshackled, leaving the chains of life behind you.
So you fly…

Fly away, fly away, my little orphan child,
In the bitter frost, your sorrows will end.
But in spirit you shall roam free and wild --
Safe at last in His immortal hand.

Sheer Perfection

You didn't come to me reluctant or protesting
But for a moment I was sure;
That you arrived from that world where I go adreaming.
For you're simply more than innocence personified
Should I begin to trust you? -- I can't decide.

How deep is this abyss into which I'm falling?
And for a moment I was sure;
That this endless drop is all my own undoing
Yet I don't want it any other way,
I surrender to the pulling gravity -- come what may!

For you're like an oasis in a desert that turn to sand --
A vision though unreal but I must follow.
And I'll rejoice in your brief but fiery touch that marks me like a brand
And sets my heart aflame,
So how can I stay the same?
It's your sheer perfection that's to blame.

You may be the object of my own creative imagining,
But if you're real then this I'm sure;
That in my life, anything this good is never everlasting.
You may even say you want me now but I know,
That words are merely words; they come and go.

For you're like far-off mountains that turn to clouds --
A vision here today but gone tomorrow.
All my loneliness, hopelessness and grief that cling to me like shrouds,
Disappear as I decide --
I shall never be denied,
Your sheer perfection by my side.

Hope

Lost I was in desolate hills with dark, brooding clouds
Overhead casting hostile shadows across once-familiar ground.
Grief and despair were my company as like shrouds,
they clung to me unrelenting, sending my senses whirling around.

Alone I was as I stumbled through the creeping undergrowth
And cruel branches scratched my exposed limbs, unforgiving.
Whichever way I turn, I was ill-met… oh how loathe
The glaring darkness, the looming quiet in my ears ascreaming.

And on my knees, I cried for the opportunities that passed me by.
I cried for Sleep to carry me in His arms and take me to Eternal Peace.
And with tear-stained face upturned to the overcast sky,
I cried for the one merciful enough to grant my tribulations a surcease.

But before my soul could surrender to Grief and Despair, the heavens
parted and a single, prism of undiluted light was shining,
illuminating a lone figure who stood before me in majestic silence.
And she, with ineffable calm and steadfast voice, was speaking
"I am the one you are seeking,"
"I am Hope."

What Goes On In My Room While I'm Asleep?

What goes on in my room while I'm asleep?
What scheming devils lurk in the dusty corners,
While I lay trembling beneath the covers?
Terrible monsters that live in the shadows,
Or creepy fiends, straight from the gallows?
What, pray tell,
What goes on in my room while I'm asleep?

What will I find in my room when I awake?
A snapping alligator beneath my bed?
Or shrieking bats right over my head?
From my open window, maybe I'd see
A ravenous vampire just eyeing to eat me?
What, oh what,
What will I find in my room when I awake?

What manner of beasts shall I see
In my closet (sniggering at me)?
Do ghosts and ghouls and demons galore
Await for me behind my door?
Should I pretend and feign ignorance?
Could these monsters see
Beneath my fake countenance?

On the other hand,
Maybe it's better if I don't know
What goes on in my room while I’m asleep...