The Tuesday Transcriber

Carousel

Through mouth-blown smoke I take my stand
on the grande stand of no man's land
to wander - the fool left unmanned
and no one there to reprimand.

But patience is an unfortunate glitch,
when a grip and flip of one small switch
and the rolling hitch of perfect pitch
sends a twitch to bewitch.

A sombre dance in a circle of light;
the night is alight in the twinkle of white
and I stand upright this night,
despite the plight my heart recites.

The stars and moon have the evening crowned,
while up and down and round and round
my soul bobs 'round then runs aground
when fate astounds and images of you abound.

The rhythm plays on but my hearts stills.
My skin chills. My eyes fill, then spill against my will.
With all the frills this ride instills, it lacks the skills
to fulfill my innermost will. 

And in circles my head will spin
while again and again like a leaf in the wind
I'm back where I've been and when therein
again is my sin - I relent and take you in.

Though I should not - my resolve is drowned;
a ghost town where my wits unwound.
My mouth is bound, my words confound,
and silence resounds on a memory's burial ground.

The platform turns on, yet I must try
with all my might to stifle my cries and say goodbye
to all that's awry in my life of lies.
Alas, my eyes to the sky I cry, "Why?!"

Myself am dizzy and try to center.
Yet, a dissenter am I. A mere inventor
of the storm's center to which I venture - 
a mentor for damnation's renter. 

I laugh to scorn the thought of me
trying to flee - like salt from the sea,
it can never be. I foresee, nothing can free me -
an abductee of my own pretty fantasy. 

So back around to face the crowd
I'm shrouded in a mushroom cloud 
of doubt I've allowed to disembowel
the ones to which I'm vowed and endowed. 

When all at once the music stops.
My heart drops and off I hop
while I prop myself and swap the sweat I've mopped
for sopping crops of dew drops.

Shaken and scarred I collect my pride
and collide with the woeful tide I provide.
I've denied my Guide the chance to abide
and instead confide and hide at twilight's side. 

Steadying my heart I rise to go, 
when slow and low the bellows flow
and call as the crow, "Don't go
The foe is slow. Come - love what you know."

And I see myself once more transcending,
descending and blending, not once contending
as the token is extended, befriending my impending end.
I wend my way and spend to ride again. 

                                                                   C. Mason Oct. 2012