Monday passed him by like any other
He cleared his inbox, called his mother
Counting out his time in coffee spoons
He'd muttered on the morning train
He'd dreamed of geisha girls again
Fingers tapping no specific tune
The bookends of the day are dark
Still haunted by a sly remark
That proper players never leave at five
So he winces through revolving doors
Imagines life on warmer shores
And wonders if his wife knows when he lies
Drops of rain…
Vaguely sane…
Thinking of remortgaging again…
His suitcase settles by his side
A lifeless hound, too much inside
The tinsel tongue announces long delays
Finally on the homeward run
He looks in envy at the young
Thinking only decent wine improves with age
Suddenly…
The agony…
Steals his breath and knocks him to his knees
[II.
Dead arm…fish mouth…gulping air
Muscle, flesh and facial hair
Screaming in a shocking symphony
Colour cracks, the curtain falls
Black jackhammers break his walls
Breathing in a hive of poisoned bees
"Oh my God is this the end?
I never called my lonely friend.
I think I may have shamed myself.
There's still such dust upon the shelf.
And did she fake? And where's my key?
And where's the life in front of me?
The square root and the politics
The futile fuss the fiddlesticks
The goosebumps and the fair degree
The perfume and the parking fee
I see I see I see…"
Shapes his eyes have never seen
Unless in a forgotten dream
Bless his sight, then slowly fade away
[III.
"Space and time leave my shoulders
An end to fear and age
Identity, the honest soldier
Takes his bow and leaves the stage
Adrift, at peace in still waters
Undisturbed but not alone
No mortal toil or holding harness
Now at last I'm going home
O beauty takes my breath away
As I see the end of days
Now cradled in the dark
I only want to stay"
[IV. Riptide –
[V.
Brutal white cold light invading his eyes
Broken by surgical green
The men in the masks watch the flatline rise
And zig-zag across their clean screen
"A close shave…you trooper…it wasn't your time"
Platitudes fall down like rain
Backslapping doctors – professional smiles
And a chestful of pills for the pain
Back to the body – bolted to bone
Forced in this fortress of flesh
Through a hedge backwards in gravity's clutch
Back to the more…or the less
So we ride the broken horse to the race's end
Smiling, saying "Welcome back, my friend"
Come in from the cold
Come back to the fold
‘Til your tale has been told
Stand
Come in from the cold
Come back to the fold
‘Til your tale has been told
Stand
Come in from the cold
Return to the fold
And stay ‘til you're old
Stand…
