The silence is broken by the cry of a child
That the lack of light
Is used to evoke the mystery
Of the night of the daring raid
The glass is left
As cut out by the robbers
A rectangular opening
Just large enough
To lift the tiara through
Whispered voices add to the atmosphere
Of loss, and magisterial bindings
And thieves or vagabonds
The knurled foot of the sofa is leaning
It does rather need straightening up
The teacup is also at an angle
Yet sits reasonably content on the radiator
Today the socks are red and yellow, green and purple
How could they not lift your spirits
The music is by Gorecki
From his Symphony of Sorrowful Songs
I hope you might pause to listen
I will
During which time nostalgia may be abroad
Concert halls, cathedrals, monastic abbeys
With streetlights, spotlights, and cool water flowing
Also smiling eyes, smiling through vales of tears
You might know of this in your own life
Where one step seemingly follows another
Yet all the while your direction is being changed
As you climb the steps to the upper deck
Or stand outside in the autumn mist
Waiting for an indicator to flash or a sign to be given
But you were the one, were you not
Who flew to Helsinki, who flew to Stockholm
In your very best blue business suit
You strode through snowdrifts to eat Chernobyl reindeer
You stepped beside the marketeers from the archipelago
All the while letting the direction take you at its will
Silver grey light effusing
Emitting joy from however far
Yet from where comes the interference
What causes the all disturbing buzz
Surely not from the settled sky
Or the writer’s awakening mind
There must be a cause
To cause the effect of noise
Noise with no suitable purpose
Except if it was from a primary object
And the disturbance
Is simply a secondary effect
Hesitation, afraid to say
That which you are not certain to be true
Easier to confirm all past mythology
To take a firm position among a lack of reality
Unable to develop into new situations
Without the fear that longing will return
Or maybe not ever go away
Such is the weight of history and life
All the while knowing
That sitting on the fence
Does not nourish the mind
Or the body, or the spirit, or the sou
Better to be bright as the blue sky
Better to be warm as washing on the line
Therewith to wear the quirky smiles of a lifetime
Brought about by place, by peace, by harmony
Let the love lights then truly enter
With no more thoughts of foreboding
Be joyful for the entrance of passionate play
Fear not for the future of the longer days
Bask in the abstraction of beauty
Hold what you can in your hand and heart
Sure the pains are in no hurry to leave you
Yet they too fall to the rules of impermanence
