Painting By Numbers (In the chord of G)

A shaking voice responds to a question I didn't hear. Conversation explodes around me filling the sky with colorful bursts of fireworks. I watch entranced by its nonsensical beauty as the colors run down from an icy moon forming iridescent pools on the banks of a dry lake before they too disappear. A murmur whispers to the wind telling me to return as I force my sight back to my surroundings, only I'm not here. I'm somewhere in the background of this crazy play viewing the spectacle thru a mirror where I find myself lost again, standing beside myself, inside myself, tired of myself. The reflection gestures and speaks but the only sound that reaches me is a metallic laughter reminding me of water dripping from a leaking faucet into a sink.1

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    Drip....drip....drip....5

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    I push it away as I wonder if I'm the only person sitting in the audience. Have I reached the unattainable? Is this the place where no harm can find me, where no pain can bind me? Am I free? Or have I finally lost my mind? And if so, is this a bad thing? I can't be sure.9

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    Drip....drip....drip....13

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    I drift off floating thru a cobalt sea of time and memories where inaudible melodies swirl, spiraling like tiny whirlpools as they fade into the nothingness that hangs on the air covering the world in an early morning mist. A white flash dispels the fog just long enough to uncover a forgotten moment of passion that vanishes as quickly as it appeared.17

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    Drip....drip....drip....21

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    That maddening sound ripples through my body as the aroma of coffee and cigarettes tug at my senses calling on me to feed the disease once more. A curtain of disillusionment crashes down over my eyes as desire returns and I follow it.25

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    Drip....drip....drip....29

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    The reflection emerges painting pictures with words that are suspended over his head, framed in his own inadequacy and misspent potential. They hover around him like great works of art hanging in a museum in some bizarre parallel universe of his own making. Fields of lilies grow at his feet, rainbows are created with each movement of his hand, yet no one seems to notice.33

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    The incessant laughter continues as the water touches my feet before quickly running away. I wonder where it goes. Does it hide behind the inane babble that permeates from the very world itself? Or does it seek the cracks and crevices beyond this life trying to find some deeper meaning? Does it really matter anyway?41

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    Drip....drip....drip....45

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    I trip over mislaid dreams, tumbling through black and white until I stand before the reflection once more. He turns to face me and our eyes meet for the first time, for the last time, for all of time. A strong hand reaches out for me, pulling me into the mirror.49

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    A tingling current of sensation courses thru me as I enter the play and force my reflection back into the shadows. Startled laughter followed by thunderous applause erupts around me causing a momentary confusion. I try to locate the source of this amusement but a blinding light obscures my view and suddenly I'm struck with the realization that I'm on stage. Hesitantly I look around only to find myself naked and alone under the bright spot light. The audience grows restless calling on me to perform. If only I could....if only I could remember my lines....if only....57

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    Drip....drip....drip....61

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    The crowd has dispersed as the white light fades to black and I find myself gazing up at the stars. Unmoving, statue-like I watch as they blink in and out in their eternal struggle to overcome the darkness. I reach out to them but they mock me in their distance, in their clusters, in their solitude. Are they the source of the laughter? Or is it all in my head?65

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    I begin counting them, classifying them, labeling them with words that have meaning only to me. Perhaps if I can understand them, I can understand myself. In learning their purpose I can find my own, but there are so many and the task is so difficult. They shift, changing their positions as my mind reels and begins to lose focus. Have I counted that one before? I can't tell.73

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    This must be what insanity feels like, and if so, then I fear that I've fallen so deeply that I'll never be able to climb out. In the depths of my despair a distant glow begins to form. Slowly, it inches its way through the darkness until with one final thrust it pushes through. A smile gently surfaces as I watch the sun rise forcing the stars from the heavens, putting them back where they belong. As the last star fades from the sky so does the laughter and I bask in the glory and warmth of the morning....of the new found day.81

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