Irreverently Relevant

     The reason silence will never reign      is that the noise in the heart is rain, music is on the myriad canopies of an array of a cast of nations, yes, we refuse to be broken, we rise up for they who rise, for the this tune is overpowering, 'tis the song of pure freedom; it takes the teardrop in the wide open eyes of a child whose sorrowful, upturned face stares at me in a questioning gaze, a face unimpressed by the dazzle of the rising of the tottering phase of leaders whose lack of clout does amaze: I hear the voices in the crowd, "O' Ichabod!" I hear the cries of the desperate, "O' Ichabod!" The voices are strong, tho' some are hushed, but the resolve in them will not be crushed; "No! Ichabod! No Ichabod!" Ichabod must not be born tonight for in the distance I see the light, of a presence that will rise to rule this land - this land that the just will rule. (gsk) © Ichabod  ( Hebrew :  אִיכָבוֹד ‎  ʼīyḵāḇōḏ , –  without glory , o...

for at the core of the light lay a whisper of darkness at the heart of the wilderness lay an oasis of sheer delight the search into the known was a jolt into the unknown solitaire, solitaire, o' lone-voiced solitaire the loneliness was palpable, the crowds were irascible the insanity of the gladness the sanity of the madness for at the core of the light lay a whisper of darkness (gsk)

'Twas the slow and steady rain -  the beat that laid a soggy cloak on all that is, yea it did soak all joie de vivre in it's soggy cloak: she was, to me, like the falling rain, each time she made me fall in pain, her laugh was joy, her voice was coy, her hand was hell-bent to destroy all of the life that I did enjoy. 'Tis true, this story, this tale I tell, of a love that was, the tale I tell, of a life once whole, the tale I tell, of waves of madness in which I fell; Solitaire, my name was Solitaire, for in solitary solace I thrived, of my solicitude I was deprived - now I stand mute in the driving rain yea, my voice is cracking in deepest pain, my soul is wracked by the deepest of pain, if the rain would wash away my disdain - all my disdain, that would be gain, for this pain is a madding stain, on the fabric of my sanity - a stain. Oh falling rain, slow cascade of rain, in the heat of pain 'tis I have lain, the pain of it haunts like a migraine: she was me, and I was...