qimissung
02-03-2009, 11:07 PM
The days shuffle by like a worn
Deck of cards in a game of
Pinochle played by old men.
Many times I laugh and love,
Acting like someone who knows
That life has only gold doubloons
To offer. I feel that I must
Seem like some well-fed merchant
After a lunch of steak and whiskey,
Rolling his fine Cuban cigar through
His fingers, secure in the knowledge
That his stocks will, like smoke from
A smokestack, rise upward, ever upward.
Then I look over my shoulder and
See you, sitting stranded on an
Ice floe as the hurling current
Takes me, whirling and swirling,
Farther, ever farther, from you.
I pass through this moment like
The ether of a broken spirit
Through old glass, and I gaze
Around me, startled and blinking;
And nothing is as it seems,
But everything is green
And wavy as if seen through
The old eyes of the ocean.
And then my heart whispers
“Ich bin ein Berliner,”
And of it’s own accord,
My heart begins to weep.
Qimissung
February 2009
Deck of cards in a game of
Pinochle played by old men.
Many times I laugh and love,
Acting like someone who knows
That life has only gold doubloons
To offer. I feel that I must
Seem like some well-fed merchant
After a lunch of steak and whiskey,
Rolling his fine Cuban cigar through
His fingers, secure in the knowledge
That his stocks will, like smoke from
A smokestack, rise upward, ever upward.
Then I look over my shoulder and
See you, sitting stranded on an
Ice floe as the hurling current
Takes me, whirling and swirling,
Farther, ever farther, from you.
I pass through this moment like
The ether of a broken spirit
Through old glass, and I gaze
Around me, startled and blinking;
And nothing is as it seems,
But everything is green
And wavy as if seen through
The old eyes of the ocean.
And then my heart whispers
“Ich bin ein Berliner,”
And of it’s own accord,
My heart begins to weep.
Qimissung
February 2009