by Darryl Price
"I was born very far from where I'm supposed to be. And so I'm on my way home."--Bob Dylan
I don't owe you anything. If I'm a recluse
what does it have to do with you? I
have the right to be poor. Some things cannot
be explained away by words that are true but
not the truth. That's simply politics, bitter and mad.
You are not me. I don't care what the
ancient animals thought. They did the best they could
to come up with an explanation for their stars.
Doesn't mean they didn't know anger or lust or
sacrifice. It only means they came and went. We
are coming and going, too. You think you know
the truth whenever you hear it, but nothing changes
more often into something else. A little piece here
and a little piece there and suddenly you think
you know where all the gold is buried. It's
an illusion, a shared joke. You'll get your fair
dumpling in the end. That's not being cynical. Looking
back it does no good to blame anybody for
anything. You never mention the poems, the amount of
songs I've written or the importance of reinventing yourself.
Art is self realization, it takes a lifetime. They
say we lost. We've lost some goodness in the
form of important players, but more will come, there's
always more. In the meantime try to remember who
you really are when the TV's off. You used
to like to hold hands. You loved walking barefoot
on the wave kissed shore. You smiled at trees.
Nothing's changed. Everything changes. Experiment & explore. With love.
They Don't Get to Say Everything
by Darryl Price
in more ways than just my body. My
feelings are all tired, too. Like
a tall drink at the hotel bar, my
mind is many miles away. I
wish I could see the ocean again one
more time. Maybe we were wrong
to spend so much of our lives dreaming.
Now we are nearly gone into
the history books. But the ocean remains, sadder
than blue to me, while I'm
drifting in my room like a balloon without
a sky. I'm walking out of
time and I know how much that hurts,
but I made a never-ending promise
to always be your sad-eyed poet until the
end. I wouldn't say it if
I didn't mean it. But I'm very tired
of some things right now. It all
seems like a very long day to me
here. I could use much sleep.
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People love to run facts by you, but all the facts in the world don't add up to a life. We are so much more than the mere facts of our existence. And some facts will remain well hidden below the surface, and they only start to resemble the truth when they are all put together, and even then, it takes spirit, it takes soul, to animate them into the real thing, which is still a mystery at best.