popsadie
Acrobat
Eleven Years.
She walks, high heel sure and reaches down, manicured nail brushing the pavement.
He watches, black hands stuffed in rainbow pockets, thinking he's seen her before
Her eyes seem familiar, green blue shining in golden orbs
Orbs that once held the world, now narrowed down the straight sidewalk.
She walks on and thinks she's seen a ghost, pale,thin, swimming in natty dreads.
The torn page on her calendar reveals its the seventh day of December, 1984.
Eleven years have passed since she turned in her
Patched, ripped, faded jeans for pinstriped slacks
Eleven years since granola bars were slowly replaced by quick lunches in darkly lit restaurants
Eleven years since she burned her Marley and Dylan records in a solemn, sacred ceremony
She watches the small, slight man with chocolate eyes
Watches him like a spirit, shading, sneaking in the background
Watches him pick up a yellowed guitar, taped up and missing a knob
She watches his short nails softly caress the strings as his mouth opens with words of redemption
She watches, head sheepishly turned to the gravely pavement below
"Free yourself of mental slavery" he sings to souls
Crying for freedom, crying for release
Release from jails built by Ben Franklin
From size five models on Channel Four
From tight-fisted tyrants in fake plastic suits
She listens, listens to the strong, sweet voice
Serenading the streets, Serending her heart
Memories flood like the river she once bathed in
Surrounding her,l raising her
Lifting her out of her paper jail
Memories of nights spent rolling in green grass
Staring at handiwork more magnificent that Monet'
Full moons brushed with streaks of white, sitting on black blue sheets of paper sky
She remembers days long past, days when she thought her dreams were her reality
And swimming in the memories, she grasps for a dream picture.
She walks, high heel sure and reaches down, manicured nail brushing the pavement.
He watches, black hands stuffed in rainbow pockets, thinking he's seen her before
Her eyes seem familiar, green blue shining in golden orbs
Orbs that once held the world, now narrowed down the straight sidewalk.
She walks on and thinks she's seen a ghost, pale,thin, swimming in natty dreads.
The torn page on her calendar reveals its the seventh day of December, 1984.
Eleven years have passed since she turned in her
Patched, ripped, faded jeans for pinstriped slacks
Eleven years since granola bars were slowly replaced by quick lunches in darkly lit restaurants
Eleven years since she burned her Marley and Dylan records in a solemn, sacred ceremony
She watches the small, slight man with chocolate eyes
Watches him like a spirit, shading, sneaking in the background
Watches him pick up a yellowed guitar, taped up and missing a knob
She watches his short nails softly caress the strings as his mouth opens with words of redemption
She watches, head sheepishly turned to the gravely pavement below
"Free yourself of mental slavery" he sings to souls
Crying for freedom, crying for release
Release from jails built by Ben Franklin
From size five models on Channel Four
From tight-fisted tyrants in fake plastic suits
She listens, listens to the strong, sweet voice
Serenading the streets, Serending her heart
Memories flood like the river she once bathed in
Surrounding her,l raising her
Lifting her out of her paper jail
Memories of nights spent rolling in green grass
Staring at handiwork more magnificent that Monet'
Full moons brushed with streaks of white, sitting on black blue sheets of paper sky
She remembers days long past, days when she thought her dreams were her reality
And swimming in the memories, she grasps for a dream picture.
