At The Corner Of My Eye

The Ghost of Us

Some people look at what we do,
And they ask why it even gives us happiness
To be able to stand on a moving log.
A kind of motion, fraught with prices
With no products, and scrapes as mementos.

But let me tell you, all of this is greater,
Than we, or all of us together.
There are Ghosts of us, but not in the trees,
Not in the air or the polluted streams.
Not in your breath, your eyes or your head.

We are at the tips of your bruised fingers.
We are in the chaffed twisted ankles,
Broken bones and hearts as they tingle
With a voice that says "get off your case"
"You have a few more falls to take"

Oh and in the world you want to know ?
We live in everything you don't show.
We are the pen of the failed artist.
We are the wind that ruffles the hair,
Of the guy standing on a precipice.
We are the ladders in her fishnets,
That she will climb up to safety.
We are the money thrown into the hats
Of the worlds most talentless busker.

With your body you want to be ?
We draw from all you will never see.
We are the flower in the cracked old wall.
We are that ancient arch in Japan,
That just refused to fall.
We are the abandoned hut found on the way
We are the inadvertent heart shaped patch of concrete,
Where a pair of leaves had blocked the graffiti spray.

When you feel like your eyes won't close.
And your ribs can't quite enclose,
Your pounding pulse, your overzealous heart.
Remember us, were all here, humbly under your feet.

The Ghost of us will invite you to dance.
To revel in your self so vast.
To sing yourself a rock song, written just for you.
To light you a candle and enjoy the view.
The Ghosts of us will whisper kindly,
"Would you like to fly again with me."