Making Music

Words are just a basic way
of telling you about my constitution,
but it is in my eyes that reveal
a (com)passionate story.

Some people say I am an old
soul, but in reality, I just see
the sullen, and consecrated truths.
I'm no saint, nor prophet, just a man.

I hear how one person can say
“I love you” in a raccoon’s eye,
but then see the betrayal
in his actions: the late night
presentations, the unsavory statement
from Citibank, the uneaten
slice of his favorite pie.
I am a master in keeping secrets.

Eyes wide open means looking
at a challenging day, acknowledging
its weariness, witnessing
a fellow friend’s pain,
or even you own, if you are paying
close attention to the details.
I say nothing, but I see it all.

It doesn’t take much to speculate
or even assess the situation
for what it really is,
if you neglect to hide
in charcoal shadows,
and avoid showering moonbeams.
Liberation doesn't mean freedom.

I am who I am. I sing my own psalms,
and I face clever realities.
In return I am rewarded
with constant truths
and sacred authenticity.
I’m not perfect. I am just one
of you, and I see your struggle
as my own, and I relate
resoundingly, cry your tears,
and cry my own. It’s an anthem,
a celebration, a battle, a lullaby.