Dave's Mental Meanderings
2003-08-18 06:32:49 (UTC)

Poem - "Moonlight Sonata"

The sun is still warming the empty grass lot
Where the children continue to play,
Slowly descending and finally ending
Yet one more groaning day.
Half a mile down the old gravel road
Beneath a roof made of tin,
The Friday night crowd begins to get loud
And the scene will swelter with sin.
Tonight a young man will get his feet wet
In puddles of liquor and blood,
An old man nearby who’s reeking of rye
Will warn of a furious flood.
Three men in the corner, their smiles growing warmer,
Are drinking a toast in my name,
Dancing on ivory with a bottle beside me,
I frown at this fictional fame.
My eyes gaze over the glazed-over faces
Adorning the mannequin masses,
Sons-of-bitches and jokers and aces
All clanging together their glasses.
The titan in white in the dead liquor light
With eyes of unblinking quiet,
His brow he raises while he deftly appraises
The rowdy rollicking riot.
After pouring a drink he pauses to think
And glances toward my direction,
I only give an acknowledging nod,
Otherwise avoiding detection.
This inquisitive look betrays his demeanor,
He can’t understand why I’m here,
Like a man on a mission, this juxtaposition
Reeks of a deep-laden fear.
Fear of setting foot too far from this family,
This gathering of drifters and reivers,
When I belong with the thinkers, the seers and dreamers,
I belong with the midnight believers.
But tonight like the last, ‘till the clock ticks past
The tell-tale toll of two,
I’ll tease out the tunes for the whores and buffoons,
But I’ll only be thinking of you.
Some nights if it’s nice, the blue neon lights
Will reveal at one forty-five
Your sharp silhouette on the opposite wall,
And you’ll see my face come alive.
As you patiently wait I just might orchestrate
A final crescendo in D,
Blurred faces will frown that they’ve shut the place down
As I strike the very last key.
At a quarter past two I’ll saunter on through
The broken bottles and chairs,
The mortal remains of the worldly cares
Of the drinkers-away of despair.
The titan knows well that I make up with soul
What lacks in applause and bravada,
He deals me what’s due for my daily rendition
Of the sullen moonlight sonata.
Then with you by my side, through the doorway in stride,
‘Neath the sign that tomorrow I’ll see,
This is the time when we make our escape,
This is the time when we’re free.
Free from the titans and regular crowds,
Free from the harlequin lights,
Under cover of dark we can truly be free
And together step into the night.