Saturday, September 25, 2010
Self-referential scrawl
Their faces haunt me,
The imagined people.
Like ghosts
Of what never was.
Dreams never realized
They stare
With eyes full
Of nothing more subversive
Than empty hope.
I cannot make them real.
For all
That I might wish,
The imperative of their songs
And
The potential of their narratives
Are something separate
Well removed
And far beyond
My power to set free.
The imagined people.
Like ghosts
Of what never was.
Dreams never realized
They stare
With eyes full
Of nothing more subversive
Than empty hope.
I cannot make them real.
For all
That I might wish,
The imperative of their songs
And
The potential of their narratives
Are something separate
Well removed
And far beyond
My power to set free.
