Lifetimes come and lifetimes go and too many stride through their time not  saying  what they feel and what they know. Sometimes histories win and sometimes histories lose, sometimes they stalk the night and steal dreams we’re meant to use. 

Jokers fake hymns and feign allegiance leaving  backstreet memories scattered with bones and dust and sad-eyed people living  with eyes closed and ears tucked in.

Take your life by the hand and walk proud into your lifetime.

Ratchet up your words my brothers and sisters, we’re movin’ on out of here. Let’s hit trails and unwalked hillsides, climb  some mountains, cross some rivers,  sit quiet on an island beach and watch the sunset paint the sea.

Wind up your tunes and lift up your voices my brothers and sisters, times a wastin’ and there’s so much left to see. Newspapers deliver everything but themselves and broadcasts speak in dysfunction’s voice, no reason not to be free.

I’m walkin’ on powered legs striding, tasting morning coffees and midnight dreams, knowing many things and people aren’t what they seem but I’ll be damned if let them blind me to those that are, ‘cause I’m simply being me.

I say sing out loud and dance out front,  let your laughter fill the air and when you kiss the one you love, mean every move. You need be no one but who you are, ‘cause look here now my brothers and sisters,  I’m simply being me.

You too, you too.

There’s moments and times, lost rhythms and rhymes, dreams coming up and dreams going down, no need for tomorrow when you’re yesterday’s dream.

I seen the neighborhood boys and wishful dreamin’, girls gone wild on the backbone of drinkin’, flowers unfolding in yesterday’s rain, no need for shelter when your yesterday’s dream.

You’ve got talent but you ain’t got hope, there ain’t no answers for you ’cause you ain’t asking, but none of it matters because you’re yesterday’s dream.

Yesterday’s dream knows no rhythm or sound, ‘cause yesterday’s dream ain’t even around.

Maceo in the woods moving, powered legs striding, inhaling earth sounds, birds singing, the dancing clickity clack of branches, the leaves whisper their mingling.

The angel, now just Angel, nearby watching, invisible to Maceo, but watching. Thinking, You go my son – I am Daddy here watching your churning movement. Have at it, my boy. You’re breaking free, breaking free. One powered stride at a time. In time, in time.

Maceo breaking a hill thinking, Rockabye Baby, bye-bye. Where were you flying on the wings of your myth? Your dying breath lives in your words only, killing quick those who love you. Rockabye Baby, bye-bye.

Angel nodding, invisible still, the son’s heart-powered legs driving him up hill now, relentless, tenacious, sweat pouring, comfort coming. Angel thinking, Keep going, my son. You’re on your way. Smiling now, his son’s chin lifting, his fierce chocolate dark eyes burning their own trails.

Maceo remembering the dishonest dance, out loud saying, Your wet inner thighs, powerful shit in your world, when you don’t have much else. One trick pony, riding the back of your fantasy.

Angel, now seen, waiting at the crest of the hill. The son seeing his father. Maceo blurting, Dad!, then to stillness, embrace, tears. Angel saying, All is well, my son. All is well. You can let go now – and forgive all their all – and keep on loving.

Maceo, not realizing he was echoing Angel Paul’s thoughts, thinking, You gotta wake up, brother. There’s dreams and then there’s reality and sometimes sittin’ waitin’ for the first to be the second will wear your ass right out, or get you killed.

In a smoke filled room an hour later, tossing back coffee, rain striking at the window, a thousand tapping fingers, Angel Paul watching from the corner, proving angels cry too, the loss of Maceo’s dream not on him yet, at least not the all of it. In time, in time.

Maceo’s forehead against the cool glass now, tapping, love found, love lost, there had to be a point in it, somewhere anyway. A flicker of yellow lifts his eyes, a goldfinch finds the feeder, brilliant yellow, a beam of hope. A smile hints on Maceo’s face. Angel Paul thinking, In time, in time.

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to be cont’d