Someone once told me
that all the stars are gray.
Someone once told me
that trees can't move alone.
Someone once told me
that they couldn't stay away.
Stay away - til the wind dances and your limbs sway -
stay away - til the gray stars sing your heart to home.
~~~
Someone once told me
that all They did was lie -
that other group, of Other people,
people who were Them, not Us.
"Them" had families, had lives and loves;
"Them" lost families, lost lives and loves.
We weren't the only losers.
They weren't the only liars.
Someone once told me that if you could write their story,
you should.
How else will we hear it?
If it doesn't come from Us.
Their story won't be heard, here, in their own voice.
We're too deep in ourselves to listen
to any voice but our own.
So here I am in comfort,
writing stories of a people not-Us,
whose voices we cannot hear,
with words I struggle to recall.
~~~
Two poems, two very different topics, one prompt: "Someone once told me..."
From Freewriting I, 18 March 2015.
Shared in the imaginary garden with real toads.
that all the stars are gray.
Someone once told me
that trees can't move alone.
Someone once told me
that they couldn't stay away.
Stay away - til the wind dances and your limbs sway -
stay away - til the gray stars sing your heart to home.
~~~
Someone once told me
that all They did was lie -
that other group, of Other people,
people who were Them, not Us.
"Them" had families, had lives and loves;
"Them" lost families, lost lives and loves.
We weren't the only losers.
They weren't the only liars.
Someone once told me that if you could write their story,
you should.
How else will we hear it?
If it doesn't come from Us.
Their story won't be heard, here, in their own voice.
We're too deep in ourselves to listen
to any voice but our own.
So here I am in comfort,
writing stories of a people not-Us,
whose voices we cannot hear,
with words I struggle to recall.
~~~
Two poems, two very different topics, one prompt: "Someone once told me..."
From Freewriting I, 18 March 2015.
Shared in the imaginary garden with real toads.
Oh the second one speaks to me so much.. why can't we really see that those divisions is not for real, that them are us, and us are them.. we're drifting aimlessly on a pebble through the empty space, and we concentrate our effort in divisions of the us and them.
ReplyDeleteI think these poems compliment each other very well. Such an evocative premise upon which to build your thoughts.
ReplyDeleteI could hear these lines as I read along, like a song, or like a call and response... nice.
ReplyDelete