Ballad of Black

Beyond all time; beyond all space

The realm that paints a saddened face

Upon my brow is now the place

That I long to be. 

Tear love from my heart; empty my soul

Fill the void, yet still grow old

My friend the end is very cold

And it’s never what you see. 

From emptiness and a solemn cage

The voice of a mother that tries to assuage

She needs to feed, yet pockets her rage

Will it carry unto thee?

All the stars that are seen on high

They caress the vacant blue black sky

Transpose a rose into a fly

and then into a bee. 

Before it starts; after it’s through

It will ask again, “What’s inside of you?”

Try to speak, but creak unto

the ones who cannot see. 

No one cries for me. 

This one leads off the collection because it’s always been one of my favorites.  This poem was written in 1987 in an auditorium during theater rehearsal.  A collection of Anton Chekhov one-act plays if I remember correctly.  I was feeling rather melancholy that day and I had taken a seat way in the back and off to the side.  While the actors ran through a scene that I wasn’t in, I reflected on the state of my life and was just rolling these feelings on top of each other; making myself feel more and more miserable. 

The whole thing just flowed from me like some out of body experience.  I was watching my hand move across the paper, but felt like just an observer to some higher force at work.  Reading over it a day or so later I marveled at some of the language, and was particularly taken by the verse structure which is somewhat complex.  I’ve never written anything since in the same style.

A few corrections here and there and I was satisfied with it.  Ballad of Black is probably the most effortless poem I’ve ever written.  I’m not sure if that’s because it was so true at the time, or I just happened to be in the right frame of mind that day to write it.  I wrote three other poems that day, but none of those were good enough to make the cut.  This one stands out for me, even ten years later

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