when the river becomes a soft song <br />high leaves do their windy dances <br />never thought I'd live this long <br />living with these dangerous chances <br /> <br />there's blood drying in my yellow hair <br />as I move from door to door <br />begging for some change to spare <br />heading out to the Venice shore <br /> <br />and weaving thru the boardwalk crowd <br />eyes narrowed against the sun <br />casting words like feathers proud <br />speaking fast until they are done <br /> <br />to me be kind enough to tell <br />need I your permission seek <br />if you can read my mind so well <br />why then must I speak <br /> <br />in a harbor of replete <br />where eyes and brains implode <br />where gentle giants keep their hallow fleet <br />sweet honesty once flowed <br /> <br />but now as the door begins to close and I cease to exist <br />on what entity can I now blame <br />what is left for obsequiousness to persist <br />when best friend and antithesis belong to one as same <br />and angry witness missed <br /> <br />I can see the wicked angels massing <br />to assail the heaven's golden force <br />with God's truth revealed in passing <br />I can see the rider's pale white horse <br /> <br />there be no more retreat in him <br />as he moves in stealthy steady paces <br />out past the tree of wisdom <br />past the angel with two faces <br /> <br />and the others he left to follow <br />as he turns the crimson tide of heresy <br />replenishes the halo <br />above those unholy voices begging for his mercy<br /><br />Robert Combs<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/come-and-go-blues/
