If I spoke the language of the weather
I might have more to say
On the swirling, spinning something
Now abiding in my soul
As it stands, it might be better
To keep the forecasts off today
The wind’s a violent nothing
And I cannot find a lull.
"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am…" –Maya Angelou
If I spoke the language of the weather
I might have more to say
On the swirling, spinning something
Now abiding in my soul
As it stands, it might be better
To keep the forecasts off today
The wind’s a violent nothing
And I cannot find a lull.
You’ve filled yourself with anger
And wonder when you see us flinch
You don’t seem to see the danger
But you’re on the edge of everything
You always thought was black as pitch.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do
I want to be the one that forgives you
Not the one that’s stoking flames
And dousing inhibitions
But I want to laugh and feel no fear
Of what was said, and if you were near
I want to be able to see myself
And see more than just a mirror
I want to be more than the cynic
Seeing every kindness as a gimmick
Hearing every prophet, thinking
“I know what causes visions…”
But if I want to forgive you
I know what I will have to do
And I don’t know if I can dare
To give myself forgiveness too.
If all I am is worthless
What am I to do?
And if hated’s the imperfect
Then what the hell are you?
Of blame there is aplenty
Of reason there is naught
Both sides the other’s wanting
For treason to be shot
Of consequence there’s nothing
Of punishment, that’s all we’ve got
You’d think it might amount to something
But if all you have is pain, what’s one more battle to be fought?
Is it the goal of our lives?
Ever seeking reaction —
Never an act,
Never a leap,
Never an ounce of passion:
Just an inspiration
Of color in others’ faces,
Feeling in their eyes;
Nevermind if that feeling
Is what calls when love dies.
There will always be a place
For the anger in my soul
But as I hear your anger, dear
I can’t feel mine there at all.
I cannot tell you not to feel
Or change what you believe is real
But I am not strong enough
To deal with the both of us.
Noises take on crueller life;
A fall becomes a crash,
And every word becomes a knife
As your downward drift becomes a dash.
I see you with your whip of words
Your scourge of flesh and feelings
You flog yourself but I’ve never heard
Of one victim in such dealings.