adventures in dysthymia

Monday, February 24, 2014

An Ugly Song, a poem

An Ugly Song


I will make ugly music, shriek
disharmonic diatribes into your ears.
Dance to it if you can.


Dance to it if you will.
Tomorrow is in my pocket, yes,
and every promise that lay


hidden around time's curve.
Hidden in the palm of my hand,
beneath the clumsy fingers


that reach for God and find
falling stars in the night.
Falling as far as my mind


can imagine, and no further;
we only dreamed who we were
yesterday. We were children


yesterday, singing tuneless
ugly songs to the darkness.
Did they reach the ears of God?


Stephen Brooke ©2014

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