When silence is said instead of saying stuff clear …
When communication breaks instead of connecting a hear …
When people have other people in their lives and thrives and loves …
That’s the “when …” you should attend
Instead of attending your “… then”.
And if I committed the crime of interfering
And assuming that anything could be true and for you,
Could be that me and too, even: even that for Chrissakes …
And so remember they called me for so long a cracked head:
A cracked head and a cracked soul: the foolishness of bold.
A man who dumbly saw just unjust delusion.
A man who never righted the pleasures
A reason enough to revise every judgement he made about
Life as he saw it; about this thing
Called … well … what?
And what is this thing he knows nothing about?
What can it truly inscribe?
How can he really describe what no one can ever?
How in fact can anyone say what he says is quite wronger
Than what they have gone,
And said, and done
Because of course it’s impossible
To say otherwise.
He may, after all, be as foolish as they claimed:
Never wise, never able to see the world as it
But then who ever can define this “really” thing?
Who ever can make the ding of the
Dong toll accurate enough
For the women and men who attempt to love:
To love in true beauty,
So he will make that call, because clearly – duty bound –
He now surely is.
But he understands the grand fall
From grace it will lead to,
And the traceless path
He must finally commit
As he gets of that fence:
The fence of his bare
And though he’s no longer afraid of losing all else,
And he’s not of a mind any more to resist,
Nor resit examination daily
Of loveless relationship,
Of unkindly citizenship,
Of fatherhood knocked sideways by prejudice of other,
He now does realise that the nearer he gets
To discovering the truth of the man he’s always been,
How it’ll hurt so much to see
He is as mad as mad can be: as mad as that tattered tapestry of sad
He has weaved across so many years
Of heres and theres:
Of years of right tad and right bad.
And as our story-site now fills myopically this e[i]ther
He cannot reject the ultimate destination.
Soon there will be no room, no physical space,
No gigabytes, no IO wild,
To swoon and to sing
The things that did drive him
For so long in this bring
He has gifted you.
So although he must now make that phonecall of truth
It’s with heavy-laden heart
And no knowledge of real soothsayer: all his
Ideas and his thoughts and his hopes and
Desires maybe stories, like flags,
So homely and proud, which he
Would wrap around his being
Not as love conquered all, but simply
As his loneliness paced
the race he stumbled on …