3.10.18 – Role-reversing
The rhymes came first, raining down like a summer storm on our heads, refreshing and wanted, warranting a tilt towards that source. The skies were wide for the echoes and our ears eager to know where they’d pour from next. There was the rest, lyrics sought for, fought for, fraught with spitting front that brought a break to the drought. We didn’t know we’d been without till we bought a stake on that stage and let the words wage a war for a few more minutes to make their mark. By the sentence’s end we were looking for the next to begin.
They opened a book of history, hoping to make it more plain to see by bringing a ringing sense to the imprints of heroines and heroes that we hardly know. That great show, heavy and ready to tell us a true story of glory and guns, fathers and sons, and all the nerve needed to serve a struggling country thrashing in its infancy. We were learning and yearning for more, leaning in and gleaning when knowledge was dropped one date at a time, at a rate in line with each discrete rhyme. It was tidy and neat, sickeningly sweet and we were always left on the edge of our seat.
We had to steady on evening’s lash, head full meaning on that cast’s reading. We migrated to melody with bated breath for a remedy to all that ailed the ones who left before the curtain sailed down. We had tremendous ground to cover before another sun rose upon us and turned our dreams to ash. Those lean beams of a peeking morning coming not as a warning but seeking to treat us unkindly for thinking of our own freedom. Our will would be done, tomorrow would come and we’d be face it with blessings on our chest and our worries laid to tender rest.