Imp
There’s an imp in me,
a naughty mischievous,
defiant imp fearing neither
man nor god.
I love that imp,
I must confess,
despite the havoc
he’s caused at times.
Me on the outside?
I’m a good guy, I guess,
following the rules,
keeping the faith,
praying to Jesus
that I can bring the imp
with me, when I make it
to heaven.
After all, the imp
carried all the damage
done me by toxic
unhappy vindictive
debasing bruising
maligning ogres
in charge of me.
Quickly the imp
would suck
the poison,
so quickly, in fact,
that not a molecule
would stick to me,
so no harm was done.
The imp, you see,
feared not contamination,
bt fed on poison and blight,
and magician that he was,
turned it all to doves
and ravens and bumblebees,
while behind the scenes,
he found his way, not caring
about curses and condemnations.
They became part of his act,
his way of violating expectations.
From time to time
the imp went into hiding,
letting me soar free,
cavorting with doves and ravens
productive, creative, but yet
mourning, dare I admit it,
the thrills the imp
would send my way.
But now he’s back,
stronger, naughtier,
pulsing with energy,
and, dare I admit it,
I’m happy he’s back.
So now we hold hands,
and listen while one of us
speaks or spins a narrative
and now, I must tell you,
it’s no longer a matter
of him and me,
but instead,
now it’s We.
BG 06.02.26
