Something out on the Horizon

I have become bored. I have learned enough german to get by and have light and sometimes onerous dark conversations about death and sadness. This happens when you look through sunglasses on a nighttime day. I haven’t written much in some time, so little, in fact, that I have considered renouncing the title “Poet”. But, today, I walked down by the lake – that beautiful woman that lies in wait all winter for the dream of a toe to test her tepid body come spring – and I heard a song that sounded vaguely familiar. These words, I’ve heard them before. Then I heard my name. Oh? I turned and headed back, my Bratwurst in hand, mangled between two pieces of the worst bread Switzerland has ever produced [and yet, the only one served with these highly valued Brats]. I heard the words again, in a lovely reggae song being played out on a six string acoustic guitar. And then I recognized the singer – he was Okoloko, whom I’d met at a reggae party some time ago. I remember someone had told him I was a poet and he said, “If you are a poet, then write me a poem.” I did.
I asked for a piece of paper, he brought it. I’d had a pen on me then – something I’ve neglected for a bit these days. I wrote something down, though I couldn’t have remembered it if I tried. And today, I heard it made into a beautiful song. I will write more for Okoloko to make into something worthwhile; like the lamb’s wool each spring.
And despite having always been this monstrosity, I have always wanted to be a lamb.