An old song-poem which at first glance is full to the brim with venom and regret but wait! Thankfully it takes a turn somewhere along the lines, well pretty much at the end, where destructive feelings clear allowing for a new resolve. Ah, the transgressions of youth, followed by some kind of redemption through lessons learnt. Sometimes we have to zig-zag for quite awhile before we start listening to our own song in the safety of our own lane....
Trial by Fire
Naked before the mirror my body tells me where I’ve been
Disappointment branded into wet shining skin With men who don’t remember scenes I will not recall
The last to caste a stone I was but now I've thrown them all
I’ve scattered pearls before the swine spitting blood and wine If you can say that you’ve done better I could use some company of your kind
I’ve abandoned acts of charity, blamed the babes asleep
Then had the gall to pray for virtue I would never keep
My eyes flashed a pretty smile while my lips curled in rage
Pacing through the circus crowd under my arm a soapbox stage
To preach before the pious of duty and decay My beacon held just high enough to lead innocence astray
In for the duration I led lemmings to the sea But I soon found out I was everyone of them and everyone of them was me
Opening my gown to the alter I offered my sorrows to the king Fully expecting to be forgiven when I bowed to kiss his ring
Accusations don't land lightly, I’m not snow drifting softly down
More a hard rain in summer drowning all other sound It takes a desperado to make it to the finish line
Racing the wind to beat the Great Flood on time
Like a meteor in the sandbox kicking up a storm Not trying to hurt somebody, just trying to keep warm
It’s cold where I've come from right before the dawn
Wailed out unheeded song forever with verses bold and strong
Into the gaping ugly yawn of wasteland drifters
Do you know the feeling?
When hail comes from dark clouds through feathers of the thunder
Blind hearts pound nails in the cross of Spirit torn asunder The Dome of Wonder collapses under the strain but will return
With a trial by fire how can I not but learn?
© Anne B Brown - May 1988