Meet me at the crossing

Of borrowed time,

I’ll tell you about freedom,

About illusion,

The bane of life…

A life where

Stereotypes run rampant

Your skin makes you a target

Religion purges the evident…

If a heart were bullets,

My arsenal would set you free

But you see,

They’ve been planting seeds

Of self destruction

We convince ourselves we need a light on

That the dark is a no fly zone

That the monsters don’t look like you and I…

That we’re unique

If love’s inside us

But when we wake up

Tuesday’s gone,

Another line we’ve drawn

When we let time run the clock.

Time is always borrowed

But I’ll meet you anywhere you choose

The crossing is the perfect place

For us to slip our comic blues

Illusion is delusional

When it’s freedom that we seek

It blinds us from reality

Makes us soft and weak

We get up every morning

Put on our new expensive clothes

Hiding insecurity

Tormented by the life we chose

Those monsters sure are real to us

They are companions of the night

But it rarely makes a difference

They’re around even when there’s light

And love binds us a sisters

We’ll cross before the morning dawn

Dance along the Milky Way

Because tomorrow Tuesday’s gone

Blackened, cracked fingernails

scratch lines into the gritty earth

blood-shot eyes stare at the clock… tick-tock

does doomsday approach as Tuesday disappears

or just another day of self-destruction

in this hell we call paradise?

Monsters walk in the light

children cower in the dark

delusional billionaires piss away money

in their illusion of freedom and security

while starving people count their ribs

Religions are a mantle for sainthood

or a get out of jail free card

for the monster that makes the children cower

both of them live on borrowed time.

A schoolkid rushes by

with his bookbag on his back

and Harry Potter’s latest book in his hand

oblivious to the ticking

or the monsters around him

just loving the fantasies in his head

and racing the clock to get to school.

Styx or Jordan

or just a cosmic space

the clock ticks for every soul

your time marches closer

yet none can claw closer

it cannot be stopped

love slips away in our rush

till our blood-shot eyes watch that final

tick-tock.

I sit and stare

no solace for a wounded heart,

Tuesday morning is gone

Veined hands caress

the cup,

painted nails tap

in rhythm to her tale,

another time

another land,

a young girl

strolls village paths,

jumps from the train

tumbles carelessly in the air

I traveled with her there

on Tuesday Morning .

An ocean of dreams,

sisters with young certainty,

begin again

a curious land,

she danced into the arms of love,

her story/my story

a family legacy,

where we came from

and who we are meant to be,

I listened and learned on Tuesday morning

Painted hands stilled,

her voice faded into memory

Tuesday mornings gone,

stories are all told

but she lives on in me

© Sarah Lamar King, Lyne Beringer, D.B. Hall, Tamsen Grace

Excerpt from the book Fire and Ice

Also Available at Amazon.com

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