by Larry Brody
NOTE FROM LB
Ah, back to showbiz at last. But first a few words about today’s title.
Just to be clear, I don’t really think I’m dead, not in any way . Because from the right angle, with just the proper squint and a frame of mind that encompasses more than we can ever see, it’s pretty clear that nothing ever really dies at all.
Hey, it had to be said, right?
Kid Hollywood Died The Same Way He Was Born
Kid Hollywood died the same way he was born,
In fits of desperation and starts of joy.
Empty life stretched out behind him,
Roads not taken, fences built, barricades
Between the man and the soul. Easy, he thought,
So easy, to leave it behind, to loose his grip on
Failed dreams and unkept vows. Simple, he thought,
So simple, to throw the past into darkness and move
Toward the light.
But the lies clung to him like barbed wire, piercing
His spirit, and puncturing his resolve, and truth
Came and went like miracles performed only
In their own time. Ah, he would see it,
He would grin, and chortle, and laugh:
A turning point, new life waiting, a great leap
For him to take! But the turn would twist,
And he would crash and fall. Deep within,
That most sheltered part of him would shatter,
And, in a way most mythological, re-create.
Kid Hollywood was a fragile one; that was the
Truth that had created all the lies.
But out of that fragility comes the
Serene being so enjoying haranguing you…
Now.
Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.
