Press play before you read. Salute
Do the dearly departed recite poetry in the dark?
Do I sometimes channel them as I hear their words?
This came through.
A deep American male voice of about....well who knows!
He speaks.
Can you hear him?
(A lone voice whispers)
Have you ever lived in a wounded ritual
It’s a lonely world in here and I still miss my best friend and lover
My wounded ritual
For I once lived in the late sixties in the Deep South
This is my short story and heartbreak just spoken and channelled through another’s beloveds mouth
My memories of the Sixties
I always wondered why we were summoned and petitioned so cruelly by so many blasphemous names
Were we really that cursed by nearly all we met
All over those great plains
Why couldn’t we just live and sit together peacefully but bravely
Just like any other pair of the world’s greatest reunited long lost lovers
Instead of just racing blindly from judgemental villages towns or cities
And sometimes having to hide in old badly beaten caravans in overgrown fields
Aren’t we all born free to walk under a warm summer's sun
To embrace the winds of emancipation as it blows gracefully under our feet
To be firmly told by good mothers and strong fathers
Never to surrender with your dying last breath
We always ran never to be caught for we were brought up to be arduous and to never yield
Although we were doomed to a fast-moving life of constant running
Like a wild mystical stag followed blindly by his beloved deer in the unexplored depths of society's chaotic forests
We always trespassed carefully throughout humanities deepest of woods
Always trying to keep one step in front of the hate-filled hunters
The Commoners
Self-professed royalty
Politicians
Police
Ice queens and kings
As we ran throughout all the ever-changing seasons and all the many hot conflicting reasons
We had our good times though since we always used to slow dance
Sometimes mentally to a lone Motown tune while hidden within secretive motel rooms
You know the ones
Those with soft music playing only two could possibly hear
The cheap wallpaper
Filthy fans to cool the hot air and the badly worn beds and cheap wooden chairs
I still sometimes sing unconsciously to the beloved dear who still runs around my inner sun
And in this great silence wonder where does she now constantly run
We are all the sums of our wounded ceremonies
But you sometimes have to be true to who you are
For your life can’t be lived if it’s just verbally or physically torn apart
To live in freedom is something you must never forsake
For true love is sometimes so deep it's just too instinctual
Always whisper this to each other
It’s my only advice
We'll face this world
The cruel names and the fire and ice together
Whatever our fate
For we will never break
It’s what I used to say back in the day whenever I cried or felt degraded
When I used to kiss and softly whisper in her ear
When that Sixties summer sun used to bow down to bless and baptise us with its life-giving rays.......
But just like invaluable memories appearing like a midnight hallucination walking slowly back into the encroaching dark shadows
I always think of my beautiful red rose just forever lost to me
In this new life of ever-growing hostile and dangerous contentious green meadows
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
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