The corners of my dim-lit world this morning pull me in
They tell me that I don't have to decide today
They tell me I can sleep in their arms till May
That I could waste my numbered days in pools of gin
I hear the voices of my Allah-fearing sisters calling
I hear their cries and the clamour of their cursing
I bury myself in the warmth of words, in the romance of a note
Their glittering rhythms and melodies lull me to dream
But they are no match for the elegance of a scream
It leaps out through the snarled wreckage of a strangled throat
'tis better to be cursed than to be blessed
You never know what you might have missed
All these questions to be answered, they splash, they sing, they dance their jig
I drag my feet in quiet surrender in search of an honourable solution
But all there lies ahead is the stillness and the silence of voluntary isolation
I look beyond the rejection-reflection and see once a healthy sprig
He once whispered love, but, aye, there was much hatred in his kiss
And so this is the fateful foe and friend I choose to miss
Be Still, o raging mind, o fearful heart!
Let the quiet light drag my chary soul under the covers
Where angels breathe peace and Jesus' hand hovers
When each dawn breaks, and the others wake for their daily drill
I will rest my head in shame and sorrow and be still.
Be Still.
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