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Protocol's Pieces

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    Horton Hatches The Egg

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I don't often share my work, but I am posting this for Cathy as it's her favourite poem of mine.



The conductor turns to the orchestra
And raises his baton, softly, oh so softly the music begins
A haunting melody, as violins sing

The piano gently begins to play
Night slips quietly into day

Time passes without any measure
No one notices, there’s so much pleasure

Enthralled by the music and hypnotized by it’s beat
The audience without word rises to it’s feet

Faster yet faster the conductor turns and turns
The beat begins to rise, passions burn

Like a moth to a flame, everyone’s caught
Then suddenly existence comes to a…


The conductor lowers his baton, and wipes his brow
Drops his handkerchief, turns to bow


And the orchestra as one begins to play
Their melody wiping cares away…

The conductor furious turns in rage
Grabs his baton begins to blaze

The orchestra now out of control
Play faster and faster the rhythm their soul

The conductor enraged begins to shout
But the maddening music drowns him out
Faster still faster they play and play
And hypnotized the audience begins to sway

Now separating and closing but still as before
But now they spin across the floor
Like demons they whirl at inhuman speeds
As the conductor shouts, cries, then pleads…

But his cries are unheard and alone he weeps
The rhythm is now the crescendo reached.




    Horton Hatches The Egg

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I posted Crescendo for Cathy as it's her favourite poem. This is not my favourite, but it's something I like very much that I wrote. Leon is my favourite I think, but I shall not share that.


Freedom (reprise)

Communication, in a spoken language or sound,
conveys so much information,
that’s both sublime and profound.
Can you convey as much information or emotion
As you let your hands drift through the air to form a scene,
Set the stage,
From the sky to the earth,
Allowing your hands to describe your thoughts,
Representing your mind and the smoky wisps of a passing dream,
To use them to show the inky blackness of your night terrors,
and your unvoiced, unuttered, choked screams.

Can you now describe the wants and desires that you feel,
all these emotions as if from your scene,
imprinted on your minds eye,
let me touch your face,
as you try to explain the why...

I'm blind you see, the gift of sight
was never given to me,
but I know I can see more than you can see,
Colours are unable to hide from me,
sounds are my world,
I cannot be fooled by the disguises of beauty,
to hold me in thrall like a slave to their duty,
a slave to vanity, not me, not me,
all I have is all I see,
with my hands or my ears, these are my tools
what I am now,
is all I will ever be,
sightless and handicapped,
but honest and free.

Which of us is handicapped more do you think ?
You will point to what you say is my handicap,
my inability to be truly free,
but I wonder, if that is what you really think ?
I must walk at a slow pace,
use a patient dog to guide my place,
my steps careful, slow and measured,
I can hear your words even now:
"My sight is to be treasured !"
As if I would ever disagree with you,
but it's curious how and what or why
you decide what can be measured,
and whose words you decide are really true.

Let me tell you a truth, that I can see,
and if you knew what I knew, you would be humble,
bow your head and wish you had my disadvantage.
All you seem to know, is all you seem to see,
a slave to an expensive reality,
formed in marketing companies,
broadcast every where you look,
conformity a rule,
your identity comes from a book,
all you are is all you see,
and all I am is all I can be,
I hear you've stopped laughing,
perhaps now you'll think before you answer
which one of us is truly free ?

If I were now to touch your face, would I feel anger,
no more would you smile, and pity my place ?
Pet my dog and walk on by, past the cripple
to stare at the sky, gloat in your ability
ah the beauty of a sunset,
or colours of the dawn,
think of me while laughing,
still convinced I am wrong ?

Freedom is so much more than words in a song,
more than some physical ability, more than the word,
or your chosen reality,
freedom is not as simple as right or wrong,
not as divine as justice, or literal as a verse in a song,
open your heart and tell me what you see.
because I'll tell you,
Freedom is simply the right to be.





    Horton Hatches The Egg

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Thanks, babe. Guess I won't have to bite you now...but can I still nibble?

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