Rebellion

I will not mourn. I will not grieve.  Let sadness step aside and find another friend. I will dance and laugh and thumb my nose at loss and pain. Grey cannot cling to me.  I wear no shawls. Shake off the weight and float in sunshine. Spin  Fly. My feet touch ground only to leap and jump. Graveyards have no magnet. Still cold stones with frozen messages are a comedy of waste. Burn the plastic flowers and carve the headstones into shapes of intrigue and motion.  Let them speak. No sitting still with knots at my centre tying me in a room of unbreathable air. I will lift, purge, open my arms to the expanse of the universe and insist on joy. Damn the funerals and the rows of black cars in the rain. I am not saving the little funeral card. I am leaving it in the pew and leaving my grief behind. I don’t need it. It can remain there tucked in front of the heavy hymnal. The songs I will sing will be of promise, laughter, devious joy that bursts from my eyes defiant and blissful. Why not? What good does it do to bow and cry? I will not. I will dance and breathe and skip in the rain, laugh at thunder, absorb the sunshine, smell the sea and coconuts and run on the sand. Fistfuls of jewels will glimmer in my palm as I toss them to the sidewalk. They bounce. They dance. I will love and abandon sense. Who needs it? The noise will stop. The pain in my ears will end. I will speak in colours and words will smell like grape bubblegum. My shoulders will drop. My head will lift. I reach to take and give in an ever circular hula-hoop.

Make it stop. The tired drone; the lunatic rage. Such hate eats the beautiful landscape. Gaping holes left where the future was to be. Dead and limp; wilted – wilted from the desert fury. Water will wash the burnt dust and morph it to green again.

I will not mourn. I will not grieve. The peace will make me bold and curious. Adventure is near.              Go then . . . noiselessly or blazing. I turn and seek . . .

(Written Nov. 21, 2012)