The Prisoner Freeing Like a rapier I would take my pen And slash through all that binds you to your post How vilified we are by the eidolons of our Selves Who course their slanders cross our meadowed dreams Far better though to cup the hands where The softer words have nestled, and to blow Childlike, sending them wending off like kisses Tender, scented , sensuous to enrapt a distant ear Let's take a look at Tooker for a moment Those dangerous pastels, that rounded fear, The distance, even in the most absorbed embrace That melds and cleaves us as our thinking dumbs our hearts The music becomes noisier now and more abstract The sensual legato, the gradual diminuendo/decrescendo That lead into the obverse silence is speckled edges Of infinite two dimensional universes, dazzled with stars And we are lost among them, voices reaching beyond sound The search and the finding being found is accepting where we are Knowing how fortunate, unique and universal is to be That for this prolonged, profound moment we behold the godded mirror When we've become Other to our Selves and the reflection Still refuses to fire anything but blank, investigated stares That leave us meaning less and less more and more Until the Magritte gaze that looks within us looks beyond For a while we may think laughter is the cure for unrelaxed But only love can radiate the shadow that infects a smile In its course it will set us back upon the path of silence That, illuminated, will prove beacon to the Other and the All
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