The Promenaders

As the music rises and falls

In an atmosphere that calls

Even the least ardent of souls

Out of the everyday roles

That is had been designed for them to play.

As they sit around they can be heard to say

The most beautiful thoughts and speeches

The kind of talk that reaches

The heart of every man.

It is if their plan

Is to reach the schism

Of happiness, of delight – of hedonism.

Unfortunately this state of rapture

Is gone at the finale.  One can’t capture

Even a moment later

As if in the heart is left a crater,

A gap, a longing to be filled,

The feelings of the world to be stilled.

The souls cry out just for peace

The music is seems is just a lease

As other things they try

To reach that unknown high

That will again leave in time.

This scurvy needs a cure – it needs some lime.

27^th July 1991, London, England.

-Richard