Panjoyah Poems
To the Dying One

I have spent forty years
In the service of your kind
Forty long years
Now it's my turn.

I am changing the game
I am burning the rules
And tearing up the pieces of paper
I am recovering who I AM

I am not for you to judge
I am not for you to heal
I am not to do it your way
Any longer.

I loved you once
I may love you again
But your dreams are like cyanide
They poison my pen

You are not wrong
And neither am I
We have our own ways
We have our own ties
To each other, no less
There are many lies
Don't you know

O father, O Dad, let me go
It's okay
I'll let you go too
It's not wrong
Tho it may make us blue
When we hold to the past
And grieve not
The tears
Those old cold tired ways
In those long ago years

That little boy is here
He still lives inside
But I've cast aside wallage
Of time, and the tide
Of your pictures of reality
Your pictures of death
Your dreams that have died
Your dreams I have left

I let you go, o father,
That I may know you anew
If ever, o ever
Our parallels true
True to each other
Mingling once more

The old you is dead
Don't you know?
You're no more
You are dead, you are dead
I allow you to die
Inside me

Yet like a phoenix from the pyre
The love we have shared
Whatever is holy
Will take us
To the next step

We shall yearn for the essence of each other
To come back in our lives
Without the presentation
Without the barriers that separate us
Walls seemingly too high to surmount
Misunderstandings, controls

Ah, you taught me to rule myself
With an iron fist
Go now, to the coals
You and such dreams
Such teachings
They are but shadows
Not trying to reach me

Will you know me again?
Will you know me anew?
Will I ever let you?

Notice you're not alive
Notice you cease to move with the changes
Notice the planet is passing you by
Notice the death in your eyes

Do you choose to look at the past
You say is not there?
Your past, your haunting childhood
It's got you ensnared
A childhood you never had
A childhood of horror
You cut it off so long ago
And now you are no more
You are dead, dead, dead, dead, DEAD

copyright 1997-2002 Panjoyah

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