Singing Songs of Joy and Peace*
We know what strict is
In the counts of the missing
The missing found
Splatters of their former selves
Shatters of what memories we had
Pushing away the viewpoints of before
It has to be forgotten
Or drag us into the mud
Meaningful deaths, but not now
They graphically get pushed away.
The clarity of the season was here
Wintery chills drifting along open skin
Particles inappreciable in white shells
Ingesting the soot of the days and nights
The wet becomes us
Slogging through the cold
We’re nothing but walking icicles
Degradation in our feet
Mornings must start with songs of Joy
From barracks to fields
To lift any spirit that could be raised
Through enforced blockage of what’s to come
Songs of Peace enforced taking Joys place
Blaring out, amplified unjust
Home is dancing in the street
Yet no dance here; our patterns are strict,
As long as this weather held.
Mercurial temperaments of nature
Have no sense of staying put
Wished away, ignoring petty whines
Pleading prayers always unheard
Chilled or sweltering
We melted or froze
In the fullness of time,
The weather changed.
Of the frozen deaths
We revoked our hearts
Set to extra toils
Making up for the dead
Of our sweat drenched backs
We camouflaged our hearts
What was left of them, numb or dead.
As long as this weather holds
“This” becomes mythical
While we wait; We wait
Continuing to give up lives
Joining the unremembered in their weather passage.
The egregious screws are welded holdfast
As we sing songs of Joy and Peace
Nevertheless the vagaries of weather;
Nonetheless what clasps us to those songs.
March on.
Opposite actions enforced.
Strictly.
March on.
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Author’s Note:
“Songs of joy and peace” come from Joni Mitchel’s beautiful song, River. I had listened to it only minutes before when I shut off my music app and tuned into that night’s writing group, River River Writer’s Circle. The prompt was “When the weather changes.” The above happened, was shared, and got the suggestion: “Think about expanding this out” (well, “stretching it out”). So, I let it sit, came back to it, and the above is the result.
Thank you, Ms. Mitchel. A sad, but integral song for many. What I wrote is no reflection on her song. The fourth line of the first stanza stayed with me.
The opening stanza from Joni Mitchel’s River is:
It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
EDIT: Boy, am I dense!
RiverRiver Writer’s Circle.
I just realized it. Not planned at all. Doh! Oy! :::palmface:::
Tale Spinning 