Lie to Me

When the halyard raps the empty staff

and the hurricane screams its rage,

and the water-mountains heave and crash

in their spume-flecked valleys chained,

and I look upon this wild expanse

shouting fury for my pleas,

and ask in dread “Do we stand a chance?”

Please, oh please take pity ….

…. lie to me.

 

When darkness infiltrates my being,

seeps silent through my bones,

and I recognize there can be no fleeing

though sorrow yet atones;

if I show some irritation,

if your smallest acts intrigue

to fan the flames of my isolation,

I beg you, with all my heart ….

…. lie to me.

 

Should I cry out loud in dream-racked sleep

in the blind of a winter night,

shouting: “What could possibly have made me weep”?

- let me be, my regrets to fight;

or I'll slip on the coward's mask of fear

like the head of a tailor's dummy,

and tend my garden (though no blooms appear):

For compassion's sake ….

…. lie to me.

 

And as my temper drains away,

in thrall to the flowing river,

so grace remains like a stag at bay:

wary of the gift of time, and its giver.

I trail my future like a comet tail,

and my childhood returns with glee!

My past is far more 'Pass' than 'Fail',

so, perhaps (just this once) .... please don't lie to me.

 

Chris Hubbard

2018