Dreamer

 Dreamer

Farther shores that exist in dreams

Call to his heart

Here in this life of complicated nonsense,

Old magazines, five dollar cups of coffee

And pop culture that mostly pops

But is not cultured.

When morning comes, he has not slept

But sits, still dreaming of a plan

To not make a plan

To be spontaneous in an unarranged

Detailed sort of arrangement

Hidden to the eyelids of the masses

And unheard of by the ears of conformed

 Genius claiming idiots in their billionaire boardrooms.

Music? What is that? It is his heart's blood

It is his heart's beat.  It is his soul's rush

It is his life, his love, his touch from divinity

His sanity............................

Now and then he slips into the night, still dreaming

And down the streets in rhythm walking fast

And singing low, listening to the guitar in his head

The piano solo in  his mind

Writing words that come together of their own accord

And in the writing down of those words

Heal him in some sweet mysterious way

That nothing else can and that nothing else ever will.

He longs to be invisible but needs the world

To see him as he is

And what he is is a dreamer in a dreamless world

A tough and tender warrior in a place of tiny phones

And I-Podded computer generated popcorn  pathos

Churned into a butter that won't melt and eyes that won't meet

And hearts that won't love and rain that won't fall

Until his hands touch those ivory keys and pluck those silver strings

That call out silently with their little voices, beckoning him back

No matter where he walks and no matter how far he runs.

The music calls him but it won't wait...............

It must be written. It must be played. It must be sung

Even if his heart is the only heart that ever hears it

Even if his tongue alone will taste the words

He is a dreamer and his music is the dream.

©by Voo

For Mark

August 12, 2006

11:30 p.m.