Marly's Box

My songs are not sad songs.

They are songs of Time and distance,

They are songs of solitude.

Solitude, always the great unmasker,

Appears to some of us as peace

And to others as loneliness,

And the picture that it reveals

Is, after all, only a reflection

Of our own selves.

We grow only while we are on

Our somewhat small lives demand,

Aided by a personal vision

That we turn upon ourselves,

The instant it develops

Enough clarity and precision.

So, what am I to sing of

But what is past, or passing?

Shall I sing of what might come to pass,

Some day, if Fate is kinder

Than a wise man would expect?

Do you think I should be smiling?

Do you think you should?

Sometimes, from here at the

We can see horrors

In the crystalline clarity

Where all paths converge.

Are we thereby enlightened?

So what, then, am I to sing of,

But bygone days and vanished loves,

And all the hopes and dreams we had

That never came to pass?

I would sing of the heroes

Who laid down their lives

So that we could live

Free and happy and in peace

If I were not afraid

That they had done so in vain.

I would sing of lives full of love and joy,

Lived in honor and with dignity.

I would wrap myself in shining dreams

And sing in celebration

If I could.

But these are not the days of old.

The Knights of the Round Table

Flash gang signs and gun down children,

While Lancelot and Galahad

Are plundering pension plans.

Do you think I should be smiling?

Do you think you should?

Songs do not make us cry because they are sad.

They make us cry because we are.

Not because the songs are sad,

But because the songs are true,

And we would not have it so.