If ever you would smell,
The earth within my skin
Your soul no longer grounded
Would watch your world flat spin.
If ever you would taste,
My tears which hide in rain
You’d wrap your arms around me
Forbid their fall again.
If ever you would feel,
My fire for you rage
You’d let the flames consume you
Let passion burn uncaged.
If ever you would hear,
My songs upon a wind
Your heart would pound that rhythm
In beats which long have been.
If ever you would see,
The slipping sands of time
Mirages create Heaven
Forever dreams entwined.
“In sleep, enchant my dreams.”
Amen.
Then along the sea, I retraced my life.
Footprints in the sand marked my journey-
From tiny, wobbling toes to sure, straight strides.
During times of confusion, my steps strayed from a steady course.
Solitary footprints in the sand deepened during my sorrows.
I called out to God.
“Why didn’t you walk with me when I needed you most?”
Once I asked, lightening illuminated disillusionment.
In that light, I again saw those footprints, deep and firm.
Beach winds fiercened, and thunderbolts roared
To command my answer.
“What Power gave you strength to carry on?”
“What happened?”
I’d caught up to the pack. Playing on Grove Street, I spotted them crossing the block. An angry, shouting and swearing crowd, picking up more people along the way.
“A little girl was out walking her dog, and that asshole knocked her over and stole her dog.” The guy answering pointed, but I never saw this perpetrator through the throng. Now equally enraged, I ran along until the mob clamored around a cream colored brick apartment building on Woodward Avenue.
A frightened eye peeked through the curtains. The door opened quickly, freeing a small dog, then slammed shut.
Everyone thought he was a loser, especially the people he borrowed money from, and he borrowed money from pretty much everyone. The quicksand of debt slowly sucked him under as he struggled to pay his rent and utility bills. Justin needed a steady income.
Music distracted him. He composed musicals, compositions with notes gliding into intricate movements that enchanted listeners. He imagined that his work would intrigue music scholars and influence artists yet unborn. He was right.
Alleviating his financial woes, Justin succeeded in auto sales. As a composer, he feared he would have died in poverty. He was right
