‘tis no applause that echoes
from the sky down to the ground
but the thunderous ire of many minds
forced to witness my two-step.
Forward/back, forward/back.
My ears are deaf to their “turn, turn”
shouted from that gallery
some say cannot exist.
And ‘tis no applause that echoes
once the dreaming is all done
but the moan and groan of soul
some say cannot exist.
Some say the words do not exist,
some say the dreams aren’t real,
and some say there’s a reason
no one hears or lives the dream.
The reason is (fill in the blanks);
it doesn’t matter half as much
what’s written on the tag
as what I choose to set down
in the corners of my mind.
I’ve set the turn, turn, turn around,
next to the moans of soul
because one day when the time is right
the turn and twist will spin the moan
into murmurs of delight.
Some say it will not ever be
but … what, what, what?
I’m deaf, you see!
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