It’s again one of those moments of solitude…
A room lit with dim, late evening light,
I lay there in that quiet moment,
Looking at those crisscross lines in my palm…
They say nothing which I understand perhaps
But the fist makes better sense I gather…
Gives a feeling as though I’m holding something inside
Love, power, secrets, anger, pain or more like a memory.
I wouldn’t let go of them, I decide.
Suddenly faces appear to my left and right,
Maybe it’s of Satan and my God…
A race or battle like scene, enemy lines, uncivilized crowd to the left;
Contrasts with images of those smiling faces I love, a home I guard,
With the sound of music echoing amidst the green fields of freedom,
And a hand reaching out to me, as I face the right.
Right looks beautiful and I smile to myself…
Satan still stands there, pointing at the loud tick-tock noise of his clock;
Luring me with wealth, status and all that I ask for…
“Many have joined my side, the race.
They’ll fight; they’ll kill, at my beck and call!
And I’ll give them all the worldly pleasures…
So why would you want to lag behind?” says he.
I desire victory, power and fame,
But do I need to be a part of this slaughter?
There are other ways to get there and I’ll find them…
Maybe there’ll be more of disapproving faces as I walk that way
That’ll barely change my mind though…
For those who have to leave, will go away
And perhaps only a few will stand by me.
So I refuse the war and will take that hand,
The hand feels warm and familiar.
It will take me where I’m meant to be,
Somewhere far, somewhere I can think free.
So I held my fist tight , kept the memory.