Rain of sadness, rain of gladness,
reign of madness,
netherworld thoughts cloud my brain,
of transitional transcendental adolescent
adulthood pain,
of childhood's bliss, of something amiss,
a lost life to recapture, a future to regain.
Existing in mood seasons,
blend imaginings with reasons,
dreams of what could be,
would be, should be,
omniscient blindness I see
staring back at me.
What is this incessant yearning,
this melancholy burning,
that keeps turning, churning,
inside my chest?
Clouds of thought,
the wool I gather,
of things I've done and
of those I would've rather.
It fills me with wonder
each day I live under
the same childhood sky,
in a world of change,
yet it stays the same,
but it makes me sad
that each moment I've had
is lost and gone forever.
Yesterday's future
is tomorrow's past,
nothing to grasp, time doesn't last,
clinging to a feather rope,
through my hands it glides, falling it slides,
first I rend, then I mend,
still a feather floating upon the wind.
And still I yearn,
and still I burn,
but this I've come to learn;
leave the future ahead,
leave the past behind,
live each moment
in it's own time.
May/June 1991
(Note:This piece has its genesis in a lame song lyric(hey, who said it hasn't changed and is still lame?-I heard that) written by a then 16 year old kid for his rock band (that never really took off). Not one of my better or technically good pieces (though it has been much rewritten from the original version) but the message/sentiment still rings true. And yes, the title is obviously a made-up word of past/present/future).
