If I
could paint the future
And not
worry if it was blue or red
I would
paint it in our colours, our marching band, our winning team, our trial before
test before trial before test again
I would
paint it in the blood red of friendship and the sharp grey of flaws
For
we did not just fall down
We were
wiped with the floors
If I
had an image of things done and not done
I would
make it straighter, less lame and with more bombs
These
are the heroic quests from the soul
They
do not tell us anything, not anything whole
Cliff
notes, blurbs, dreadful summaries, one liners
The truth
is far more circumspect
The angles
bruised and worn out
There
is no perfection, there are no heroes
No villains
either
Just
moments, good and bad
When
you carried or you were the bag
If I
had a recording
Of every
single voice
Every
football game, ever silly knavish trick
It would
serve no use
Until
honesty wins the day
So all
I have in parting are the things we used to be
Painting,
picture, recording
A manifesto
never lived up to
Drawing
down into the realm of grace
Faster
only to discover
We need
to move at the same pace
This
is all about arriving at the same place
I had
a dream once about lagging behind
I felt
stronger alone
Like
a fish on land about to die
Thinking,
this is breathing
No,
this is dying
I had
a dream once
About
wearing a crown
Now I
see those crucial thorns
Put it
on me now and still
I now
can see the future
It is
painted blue and red
Our
colours, our marching band, our winning team, and our trial before test before
trial before test again
              The
blood red of friendship and the sharp grey of flaws
The fall
down
Being
wiped with the floors
The rise
Together.