I’m standing still in the grass looking at the sky
Imagining next to me a twisted stair
It’s made of piano keys and glorious words
As I ascend, I enter some sort of secret lair.
I hear a song of Italy and fall and altered states,
And a flag snapping in the crispy breeze
I can’t seem to climb higher than I am right now
Probably because of my age and my injuries.
My faith is overcome by melody and verse
Things I can only get second story
When I know one once lived the truth of them
And all their darkened glory.
I get a tiny glimpse of what could be from here
And the taste leaves a very particular thirst
Is there someone up above me on this stair
Or am I possibly the first?
Original Copy in Turmoil and Transformation
February 23, 2010