People don’t like to be meddled with.
We tell them what to do, what to think.
‘Don’t run, Don’t Walk.’
We’re in their homes and in their heads
And we haven’t the right.
It got in me too young.
Before I knew what it was.
Or what to call it.
First it took my eyes.
And I needed to know more.
And though awake, I slept.
The ears were next-in-line.
Hard truths for the soft-touch.
And the games I’d learned to play would end.
And I was alone once more.
I tried to run.
Fast as my feet would carry me.
Arms wide shut.
And never wondered if things would become undone again.
But then I lost touch.
And I never stopped to wonder or ask why.
And soon I had just the one leg to stand on.
If I knew then, I’d tell myself what I told a friend.
‘The things we do when we’re procrastinating are the things we should be doing for the rest of our lives’.
Running wasn’t the sport for me. Running fast wasn’t my past-time.
I felt sure running scared wasn’t my passion.
But the flavour was gone.
And I said nothing.
Drowned out by a million voices.
And the song tasted bitter in my mouth.
Until they were the only songs I could hear.
But I never stopped wondering.
Some day I’ll even ask.
And a million voices will speak as one.
And there I’ll stand. Waiting.
“River, we’re not telling people what to think,
We’re just trying to show them how.”