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About Street roots. (Portland, OR) 1998-current | View Entire Issue (June 5, 2015)
Page 14 Lost Variations for two voices . ^9 Street Roots • June 5 -1 1,201 5 Poetry Anonymous Leo Rhodes Where do we live? Underneath sunset. How long have we been here? Since the time when war came without effort and hearts didn?t own a te a ro ra victory. What do we do?r We hide. We answer each question with a difficult anger, for nothing but heartache; I walk around Nowhere specific I sit. Sometimes I lay down Thinking, Thinking, Thinking Lost in my confusion I start talking to myself Trying to rationalize my predicament When is it time? Time is that beggar living on the street. He dictates to us when io"move, how to dream. Run and he’ll be there waiting at the crossroads. Who’ll come to save us? No one. Nothing. ? Yet when the wind stirs I hear voices call us... I’ve heard it most nights. Don’t ever listen. Don’t ever listen. Don’t listen. For what it might bring! Pointlessly existing Minutes turn to hours , Hours turn to days , Days turn to months ; Months turn to years, Sometimes I try to reach out In my dazed confused state Nobody seems to understand Or they just, don’t care Where do we live? Inside this morning. How long have we been here? Only the lakes remember our arrival.; Go there at dawn and an answer will come. Frustration adds to confusion People are starting to look at me differently They are starting to talk about me What do We do? Balance our shadows in the bright sunlight as much as we’re able, eat the light and then struggle with blindness. When is it time? Time is just like a song you just have to listen. What comes on invisible wings, darting above. Now the birds sing. Feeling insecure I start building walls Behind my walls.nobody can touch me My walls become thicker and higher Loving my space, my privacy Everything seems to annoy m e Especially when they try to penetrate my walls Who’ll come to saveus? FOrsome it’s the rattling cloud, the air before evening. Come, take my hand, for all it’s worth. Our hearts learn much too soon how to speak. A room of our own Eileen V. A room of our own is what I desire for Molly and me. Where we may find our solace once again, and be free. Free of hatred, free of people, free of prejudices, free of incompleteness. A room of our own where we can grow, develop and reunite as one. A place to hang pictures and to have our belongings around us again. A room of our own where we can just be.
