The first time I saw you
Playing your guitar
Was in a smoky rowhouse basement
Down on Charles Street,
Like a hippy reincarnate:
A ghost from our parent's past.
There I was
Drinking highballs
Off a marble bar
With black lacquered stools
And playing pool
With an antique cue.
There you were:
Fine-tuned dreamer,
Top-class weaver
Timelessly seaming yourself
Into the fabric of life;
The perfect place
For that kind of thing.
Old school girl with an old school guitar,
Softly singing sultry chords
To the people gathered 'round you--
The lovers and the sleepers
Caught in the trance
Of your melodic tune.
You strummed our strings in perfect harmony.
The sativa sweetness
Engulfed your memory,
Stored forever
In the flames of our lighters
Like a dried flower in a press
Rediscovered years later.
Perfect image of a soulful girl--
Long wavy hair falling carelessly
Over a sad artist's face
A face to make the angels cry
Crepe green skirt flowing
Like the sepals on a rosebud
We all said
That we wanted to get out of here
But you were the only one
Who actually left.
We all loved you.
We all secretly looked up to you.
We all wanted to be
That free spirit
Unobliged uncompromised,
Caught up in the moment
And swept away the next
Like a leaf in the wind.
You swept away from us like the wind.
We knew that night
Had to end
And when the last of us sleepy dreamers
Left that house
You put away your guitar
And said goodbye.
Gypsy, you packed your caravan
And trekked into the wide wide wilderness,
Said it was your destiny,
Said it was all meant to be,
And that these city walls
Could not contain your restless soul.
Off you went, traversing the sky,
Building your life
Into a story with short chapters
Like the ones you read
At cafes in Prague
While you waited for the train.
You were like a novelist's character,
Canonized in your plight;
Too real for fiction,
Too tangible for fantasy,
But too pure
For reality.
Princess, you rode a white mare where the cars drove with headlights.
We were the parents
And you were the child
Bold, daring,
Witnessing all;
But really,
Were you seeing anything?
We all thought,
We all hoped,
That you would settle back in
Like a puzzle piece
Gone astray
Under the couch for a while.
But we grew older while you grew younger
And still you didn't fit;
We watched with admiration
And concern
And a little bit of envy
As you pieced together your own picture.
As you cleared your own path
In virgin forests
Whose lush fruit
We had yet to taste,
Whose fresh air
We had yet to breathe.
But you sat in the boughs and threw mangoes our way.
You sent us pictures too
Of sunrises you saw blaze
Across early morning skies
And suns you saw set
Below green twilight
Into a starry oblivion.
Of stony Scottish castles,
Musky Indian temples,
Marble Roman ruins,
Flowery English manors,
And tranquil Japanese gardens
Radiating with your deep-felt zen.
Experiences too:
We sighed at your latest lovers
Merged between the bedsheets
In your hotel rooms, oh so different
From our carefully balanced relationships
Back at home.
You were the golden thread
In our black sweaters.
We noticed
The look in your eyes
Like two dewdrops
Caught in the morning sun.
So, you were the panacea; you were the vial of lifeblood.
But we saved you for our dreams--
Our quiet lives couldn't follow
The virtues you preached,
The philosophy you upheld,
The unknowing you faced
From one day to the next.
You were like Diana
So beautiful in the dawn,
With sweet songs piercing us
Like silver arrows in the night
Lodging in our bosoms
Resting in our hearts.
Moon goddess
We did not ask you to come home
For you were liberated and independent;
Free from the shackles
That bind mere mortals
To their own realms.
But your religion was so dead;
We admired the classic grace
Of your statue in the Parthenon
But we did not follow you,
For no one else
Speaks your language anymore.
No, they say it died out over time; they say you died out over time. |
Submission Name: Musician's Dead Religion
