Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office


                                           Died While Trying

                                  (prompted by an idea by Nagi)


                     “Every day you play with the light of the universe”

                                                 -Neruda

          
The glory of killing an old man already dying
Is heralded by the clinking of colorful medals
As a president is helped into his Mercedes
By white-gloved lieutenants wearing golden aiguilettes

The old man dying in his bed was a challenge to evil
Through the love-letters of freedom he wrote to the world
Ambassadors of hope that could not be recalled
Just as a subtle injection cannot be withdrawn

A flowering of ideas in verses freely exchanged
Crushed beneath boots polished by frightened houseboys

I'm the rain
I don't hurt anyone
I just exist and try to be as genuine and gentle as I can
I try to grow flowers
But they stay inside

As I pour over the town
I squint into one backyard
Where someone is dancing in the thing they are avoiding

I want them to love me even when I'm preventing the sun from going in their eyes
I want them to love me when I wasn't holding back
When I let myself be
Like they were
When they were spinning and jumping

I am rain
I am the tear of the cloud
I am everywhere
And I've seen so much
But I guess I still don't know where to fall

I am rain
And I want to be loved too
Which is why I smile when they keep their umbrella closed
And step outside
And get covered with authenticity

I am rajn

To feel alive, I stepped out,
earnestly seeking a way to be-
closer to nature, closer to you,  
yet each footfall weighed so heavy.  

My eyes burned and welled up,
I could blame the sun, a little.
Blades of tiny grass pricked my skin-
a feeling I’d long forgotten.  

Fountain grass swayed in gold haze,  
the sun sinking low behind it.
But all that filled my mind, my ribs,  
was your face, your nearness.  

Memories struck clear as glass:  
our fingers first twining tight,  
a story the trees still whisper-
the wind bringing you back to me.

With each passing moment,
I wish to go back in time-
to feel your breath, to hold your hand,
to be near, just blissfully watching you.