I neither got to visit Versailles
Nor know wanderlust’s calm at Gare de Bruges
That glory was one beat too far
Moulin Rouge commanded some checklist, foreign to me
And we’d “miles to go”
Topless beaches on the Med, and all….
Damned dogmas
But Kings and Conductors still summon me
For they heard my name
Nightly, I tell them
You’ve known no such power
And masterpiece
Such God-Speed
As me
So this suitcase sits at my bedside
Packed
With ink-pen and parchment
Pinafores and peace
Decreeing
Whistling
Ready
We didn’t want to know her
We wanted to be her
Certain we were her, we danced
Amidst the flames of our heart, we danced
Weaving, as dreamers do
Our story with yours
We picked up the pen
With aching hands, but ink anew
We stayed still, in Once-Upon-a-Time fashion
Hoping to make the one day we’d meet
The happy afterall
Come truer
Should I behave
As a proper afterthought
Maybe
But know I will not
Nor am I sorry
For, a relegated me
Wearing invisible ink
Can never be
Leather bound notebook
It asks me to write of fear
I’ll not waste the ink
I see the trajectory
By the time this is over
Your hands will scribble of your past in unrecognizable caricatures
Your ink will run dry
Only I’ll have the proof of you
And but for my forethought, but for my need
But for my suffering walk
It’s clear you’d have been a vapor
An abrasion there, on an inky finger, both hard-earned
Zest and zeal in the palm of a humble hand
Awestruck there
The noise is different down here, though
Mad-dogs and hurricanes at your back
A inhumane society nipping at random achilles
Sleepless here
I once cut my hair
And I think I’ll do it again, plus deny my Greek-goddess roots
What I will do next will delight and amaze you all
All of you who put me in a box you call, “somebody I used to know”
I will hire a car service, like the braggarts of New York City
Hand the driver a tip with the fat direction to drive you all far, far away
Wherever it is, you need to go
Mark your calendars in pink ink
Whether ink or lead
Or in aerosoled hue
I own thee, my friend
Placed my mark upon you
It’s your fault, inspirer
You’ve caused my daydream
Your borderless pages
From which you Love-scream
Never stop speaking
Such fanciful truth
I fight with you, write with you
Together we sleuth
(Original Thought Credit:
“Books make excellent companions.”
-James Howe)
LisaRosier.com 