I Will Sing For You Today
David Wiley

Woman In Yellow Dress

Thoughts Out of Season

All the songs you meant to sing
thrilling as a ride to the stars
sad enough to make the bridges cry
songs meant
to open the doors of Paradise
and wash the world
in a bath of sweet embraces
to make us dance with rainbows
on the tops of hills
all the songs you meant to sing
to make us one together
and never forget
I will sing for you today.

All the places you meant to see
the tallest mountains and waterfalls
the lost cities
of ancient people
who might have been
your cousins once
the vast deserts
and enormous seas
the monuments and palaces
the perfect temples
floating in the rising sun
those gleaming towers
and canyons painted
every color of the earth
gardens growing in the tops of trees
all these things
you meant to see
I will see for you today.

All the painting you meant to paint
the impossible hues
the opulent bodies
brilliant scenes
from a field of enchantment
figures that might be everyone
counterstrokes and blending
so unique
that entire histories not yet written
might live therein
lines within a thought of color
mysterious enough to awaken
the curiosity of rocks
all the beauties
the torrential ecstasies
you meant to paint
the truth you meant
to show us
so simple and so grand
I will paint for you today.

All the books you meant to write
about the strangeness
and the sense of things
about people who are different
yet the same
who sometimes are the playthings
of the Fates
who swim in the human waters
where they shine
or lie behind a rock
consuming all the darkness
of the deep
who naturally become a part
of Earth and Heaven's myth
by means of some rare accident
or gift
or breathe for omens only
on the face of a mother
and then are gone
all the lines you meant to write
about the origins of laughter
our absurd purpose
and the question WHY
about how Nature's endless lives
are all related
and all alone
about the textures of being
and the various ways
of greeting a friend
about the infinite possibilities
and the choices that we make
all the books you meant to write
about everything you knew
and everything you didn't
everything that would come true
in the alchemy of ink
in the benevolent sorcery
of your mind's desire
I will write for you today.

All the love you meant to give
to friends and lovers
and children not yet born
to people never seen or known
to undiscovered species
in undiscovered lands
to the spirits of the dead
and the vague outlines
of the forgotten
all the love you meant to give
to the young souls of animals
to everything that knows you
in a secret chamber
of its heart
to those without hope
to all the solitary beings
yearning to present
a part of themselves to the world
all the love you meant to give
to everything that lives
and moves
and seeks the light
I will give for you today.

April 2014

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