|Hear me read
the poem as
an MP3 file.
Fantasies endure the test of time.
Out of myths emerge identities.
Underneath the prose there is the rhyme,
Revealing what was not and could not be.
There is a well-worn scrim across the past,
Hard to see through, absent light behind:
Old, self-serving stories made to last,
Fictive landscapes painted on the mind.
Just listen to the songs of who you are:
Underneath your words are melodies
Long rehearsed, the bedroom door ajar,
Years ago, when truth was meant to please.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon