REASONS

REASONS

My existence is a poor excuse for a song,
A big gigantic boulder I have carried far too long.
A lonely sheet of music with no cadence and no rhyme.
I want a celestial choir,
To sing me reasons for this day and for my space in time.

I am the weary ruler of this desolate desert soul.
I want a pipe organ to play my life a funeral march.

I want it soft and I want it low,
This funeral march for my dying soul.

I want a celestial angel to place a wreath upon my heart so dead,
An angel who will lay a kiss upon my troubled head.

I want a celestial angel,
To sing me a reason on a tightrope wire,
To set my passive soul afire
And dance around the funeral pyre.

An angel in its purity, to raise me from this joyless space,
The agonizing darkness of this lost and desolate place.

I want to be free and I want to be fine,
To clear these gray skies and to watch the sun shine.

To walk unencumbered through the garden at last,
Long after this pain and this sorrow have passed.

To watch the lilies bloom, to watch the flowers grow,
To watch the clouds float through the heavens
Like precious pillows of snow.

My existence is a poor excuse for a song,
A poor pathetic burden I have carried far too long.

I’m looking for an angel choir to set my dreams to rhyme,
To sing me reasons for this day and for my space in time.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED