The Melting

1991

I stand watching the clouds again,
the music filters into my soul,
and my eyes burn with passion yet again.
Deep within, the misplaced stirs
ready to form union,
together I will walk this reality street.

Simple enough, a casual stroll,
but the revelations are drastic
and the results humbling.

I'm confronted with a conglomeration of people,
people of many types, playing that game,
life, control, conquest, love, pleasure,
whichever name the game is called today.

One person comes up to me and asks,
'So what can you offer me?'
And so I, too, play the game.

When my vision is assaulted with pain,
or accosted by an injury to beauty,
my tears streams like blood,
and my passion endears the rage.

My heart cries for my justice,
but I am not Justice.
My mind decrees that I can do nothing,
nothing but move on.

I am neither saint nor nobleman.
There are no more knights of the round table,
no more dragons or creatures to be slain,
no romantic fantasies of heraldic ages long gone.
Not even Shakespeare, nor Whitman,
I am just a person,
one within the conglomeration of 5 billion,
but unique nonetheless.

Individuality gives no special powers,
no extra privileges, no tricks to win the game.
Merely this sense of humbling so profound.

I level my gaze at this person,
and the eyes are of all who would be near me.

"I can only offer myself,
and the price is that you do the same."

The eyes melt, the world melts,
reality street melts,
the 5 billion carcasses melt,
the passion melts,
I melt.

But the melting pot always cools.