Going To Peace

by Scott Utley

A great mystic once told me there is a place on the other side of my mind

where I can touch heaven if I devoutly wish to go there. I haven't made the trip

yet, so I can't verify the great mystic's words, but in my heart of hearts

I believe such a miraculous place must surely exist. I trust great mystics as

far as great mystics go, but it wasn't until I met a blue fairy who said,

"Yes indeed, the great mystic was telling you the truth.",

that I began to believe in heaven. God knows blue fairies never lie.

They've been known to embellish the truth, they love to paint stories

with invisible ink, but they never lie. Now, I know what you're thinking,

"Have you been there yet?" Well, I'm embarrassed to say, "No.”,

but I have more than one good excuse. I’ve been busy sowing oats,

kicking back, working my fingers to the bones, climbing the ladder to

excess, tripping out, skimming stones, reading between the lines,

raising a child, actually a dog, a hog, my reason for being, acting wild,

looking for love, hating the glove, riding the out this storm tonight,

saving face, saying grace, just being me, searching the sea,

fighting for freedom, erasing my past, running too fast on second rate gas,

doing anything, nothing, pretending to be, refusing to see. You don’t believe me?

That makes me sad. You don’t want me mad. Now are you glad? The real reason

I haven’t been to Peace, for Peace is what the other side of my mind is

called, according to the soul almanac, the blue fairy, and a great mystic is,

because to get there, I would have to walk through a forest of shadows and anyway,

I don’t know the way, and it’s cold today. It’s much too hot. I’d rather rot.

I don’t have time. I'm trapped in a rhyme. The Truth? The truth?

I can't handle the truth! Besides, I never really wanted to go.

I have an important date. I’m late. Call it fate, and I promised a friend,

my mother, sister, parole officer, neighbor, the guy on the corner,

the masses, molasses, Sammy, June, Mary and May, the prowler outside my room

that this time I know it’s for real. Big deal, I steal. I lied. I’m a heel.

I should wax the car, travel real far, hitch a ride on a star, paint my toe nails,

take out the garbage, study religion, crucify myself, find some time,

gain some weight, stretch a buck, stop smoking, start smoking, keep choking,

sing in a band, make a stand, shoot the moon, come home soon, jump in a frying pan,

morph into a man, take a nap, run in circles. And ... it scares me to think

what I might find in the forest of shadows. Who would pick me up off the ground

should I stumble, should I fall? I don't want help, I want it all.

Who would hold me tight in their loving embrace should my last breath come and go?

Do you know? I’m so weak! That was low. I suppose some journeys can’t be shared.

That’s why I’m scared.

07/06/2012

Posted on 07/06/2012
Copyright © 2025 Scott Utley