by Paul Goodspeed
It begins with background chatter crackling like a comfortable fire on a cold night
And home-baked bread that tastes like hospitality, sweeter than hand-harvested honey
Then she steps up to the mic and reels us in, collecting the scatter and quelling the chatter
And despite quirky quips called out with a smile, the program commences
With each song I float away on angelic acoustic music
Each lyric carefully carved with exquisite care
Each song its own path to profundity
An Irreverent poetic tribute to Thomas Aquinas from the Open Mic in December 2016
On Interrogating the Statues of Dead Men
Standing at the edge of the world
The waves flowing over the side
Into impending nothingness.
Take one last breath.
We sailed away from the shoreline
Raised the anchor
Strove forth like valiant youth we were
And funny now how we are knocking on heaven's door.
Before the sail breaks!
I found myself standing at the gates of hell.
I guess thats what happens when you give your ticket back.
Oh well. I'll live in hell. I'd rather be in my Hell than in this good.
Its precisely the good I can't enjoy,
Thus, Hell is preferable to Heaven.
He stood behind me, shaking his head.
Wrapped in his hoodie like me, with a hole through his chest.