Waiting For My Second Line 

When the Parade has passed

and the cheers fade,

when the party ends

on promises made,

then I'll come along,

then I'll dance. 

I lie in the dark and they come,

always the same echoes,

the same strains ~  

No matter where or when I rest,

from the cradle right on through

my darkened fevered childhood

on through nights alone or in

a swept togetherness off and on,

in hospitals and at home,

always always every night

I hear it ~ 

Like you hear music through thin walls

or from way down the street,

or across waters calm and dark,

always muted just beyond earshot

just beyond reality,

wafting within the darkness swirling,

kissing my ears maddeningly close yet

just not there;

always always every night

I hear the music ~ 

I thought it was a haunting,

following me,

no matter where I slept ~ 

The darkness brought it to my edge,

the soft sad strains of a sinking ship's band

merging into and with jaunty unknown melodies

like an enveloping wave takes your sanity,

from weeping violins to some honky-tonk sound

or hurdy-gurdy never heard

in my wakened world,

with background chattering and clattering

far away,

this darkened party of ghosts;

always always every night

I hear them ~ 

Confusion reigns in darkness;

why and wherefrom,

if not haunted ~ 

Each night I strain to hear some full detail,

a note, a word, a chord alone;

only the distant brass clamoring

and sweet melodies floating

and fading further away,

just beyond the night,

but now

I know who they are ~

I know them all,

those who wait for me,

who will dance and sing

when I arrive,

they wait for me,

to celebrate me;

they play for me every night

my beloved band of ghosts ~ 

always I am hearing them,

and I am waiting

for my Second Line.

 

 

© ACG

27 September 2013