my name ain't Dorothy . . .

[Bill]

 

my name ain’t Dorothy

 

i was born in a place

not named Kansas

but on the same planet

and yet,

though there was many differences between Dorothy and i

the similarities were vast

 

who can deny

or defy the screams

emanating from the Soul

yes there were dreams

with those screams

and it seems

that the light beams of fruition

just move seditiously too slow

you know

don’t you ?

 

somewhere in this complexity

of convexing realities

of Time and Space

the sublime faces

of contexuality

become a chameleon

to yet disguise truth

from the like of all . . .

and aloof we remain

in this inane plane

of the “Sane”?

 

observant or not

in this dimensional spot

all we got

is what we believe

and we are free to conceive it as we choose

for perplexingly we are the winners

and the losers as well

but who was suppose to tell us

 

like grapes on Grandma’s Trellis

we just hang around

waiting to be plucked from the vine

consumed i assume

devoid of our once regal blooms

we fall to the ground

and return from whence we come

is this the sum of this journey

 

Dorothy asked questions as well

ones that were perhaps unjustifiable

you know

like “why am i here?”

“what have i come to do?”

“why is the Road made of Brick?

and “why yellow?

“where is this Magical Emerald City

and the witty Wizard

who can enact the fact

that i do not belong here?”

and “who are these strange fellows

who want to tag along?”

like a Girl Scout Cookie Sale

leaning on my emotions

to evoke me to participate

in their quizzical quest

for a Heart

a Brain

and Courage

seeking as well

to be their best

 

lest we forget

yes the journey seems unending

and i need me a nap

and i tire

for the fire of my desires continually burns

as we take turns being vigilant

and i have no Ruby Red Slippers

 

but there is no field of Poppies or Daisies

for my  unlazy and fertile dreaming self to sleep it off

sleep it off

and i scoff

at the myriad of possibility

within this dream

and ability seems to elude my embrace

so i delude “Self”

or Self deludes me

 

and this appears to be the epitome

of the “free”

and we still hold on to lofty hopes

of some Wizard

to deliver us

from our proverbial “Self”

and like an Elf

walking in the Land of Giants

i remain defiant

to what they teach me to be reliantly true

how about you ?

 

Now that i think about it

perhaps it was those Poppies

in the Field of my Dreams

perhaps i tarried a bit too long

and the song of my Soul became Lucid

once again

and came to realize

that “i” am my own best friend

and that “I” i see in you

resides in me

and all the Glendas

and the ToTos

and the Auntie Ems

are the Gems

in this journey

 

but then again . . .

 

my name ain’t Dorothy

 

© 15 February 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.