A Song Coming On

A Song Coming On
by Peter John

I feel a song coming on.
When the night air is silent
A symphony tugs on my ear.
I feel a beckoning song
And I wish I could share it,
So all who would listen could hear.
I ran from the rhythm of rocks by the sea
For stillness in solitude under a tree,
But whispering moon dust keeps chanting at me.
I feel a song coming on.

I feel the dawn coming on.
In a scepter of brightness
Assaulting the night’s stubborn shell.
I feel the beckoning dawn,
With a voyage commencing,
And strangers all wishing me well.
Now plunging through spindrift that begs me to stay
I struggle for breath, kicking blankets away
Toward menacing hands that await me today.
I feel the dawn coming on.

I feel the pain coming on.
From the piercing extrusions
That gouge at the death in my skin.
I feel the beckoning pain,
Tugging arms groping outward
From eyeballs compelled to gaze in.
A cold iron virgin is waiting to feed,
And wrapping my world for the howling I bleed
When razor fine feathers advance and recede.
I feel the pain coming on.

I feel a friend coming on.
The beginning of healing,
Auroras that melt where I’m bruised.
I feel a beckoning friend,
While caution responds.
I’m a puppy who’s always abused.
But loyalty answers if honesty’s there,
And each of us offers our efforts to share
The burdens to pressing for one back to bear.
I feel a friend coming on.

I feel a love coming on.
In a garden of daisies
An orchid unfolds into bloom.
I feel a beckoning love,
Though I pause to embrace it,
Determined to give it some room.
The space in a heart that a love needs to grow
Is worth all the blossoms that finally show
When roots sink so deep they will never let go.
I feel a love coming on.

I feel a dream coming on.
Though my eyes are wide open,
My senses soar out into space.
I feel a beckoning dream,
And a rainbow keeps scattering
Kisses all over my face —
And jasmine is dancing through tickling haze,
To echo in highlands where unicorns graze —
A fragrance I fancied I’d find from a phrase.
I feel a dream coming on.

I feel the night coming on,
The comfort it offers while
Gently it’s settling in.
I feel the beckoning night.
It’s a shroud of deception,
So firm, so incredibly thin!
With nothing to fear but my skin in a gown,
When flickering flames force a choice from my frown –
To snuff out the candle, or let it burn down.
I feel the night coming on.

And I feel a song coming on …

—
(c)1983, 1992 by Peter John Stone. All rights reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.