when these scene-stealers seem
to know the degradation they've made
and saved and pushed up hill?
What will it mean to the saved and saving
when the sun rays shine so far and wide
that only those whose eyes see white
will save themselves for all color
all time, next time?
The ditties, raps, nerve verses
today rattle the cage
and cajole the innocence,
urging for a day when the parade
will run full on, innocently bright and loud
and popcorn pink and blue and yellows,
birds of a fellow.
Do you know who you are, where you are?
What world you're in, what tide came in,
what rhyme says you, what rhyme says me,
if every the world says we?
Listen, listen, hum, thrum,
know your own sound
from the ocean of love,
and until then, bang your drum slowly,
build your portfolio,
let the images flow,
sing to your heart's content
to the birds and those whose hands
reach for you, whose voices lilt
the love of the universe.
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