"Accolades For Valor" by Matthew Johnson (1993): "She goes through life, gliding, a benevolent seer/ Stopping constantly to aid those in need, those not even dear/ I, an individual, swept up in the storm/ Of a woman, who, in search of herself, defies the norm/ As I, an outcast, fighting myself, yet daring to believe/ That if I ask her aid and succor (and possibly love) she won’t leave/ Giving her heart, mind and soul to every known cause/ Causing me to look about my selfish malestrom, and in introspection give pause/ For all her words, she won’t write about me, does she fail to perceive/ What the object knows to be true and what make believe—/ Words rarely present, presence much more of one/ Is to wish for more as good as wishing for the sun?/ Energy is precious, as I know well to be true/ And I am curious to know, Lorraine, what I can ask of you/ Names are important, they make us who we are/ Much more important than people give credit, by far/ The masses may cry “Lori!” and let them do so!/ For the numbers who call that cannot understand/ They will never know the Lorraine inside, the one crying to live/ Will be forever frustrated by those whose minds are like a sieve/ There may be those who rob her of her world, let them scratch the skin/ They are as pinpricks to the steel within/ These accolades are not exaggeration, not pretentious/ I Just want you to know that there is at least one who is conscious/ That the world is a better place for the life of a woman named Lorraine."

Friday, December 15, 1995

Already Dirty Mirrors












I Thought this new start would clear the slate.
I knew it was time to renovate.
My soul was screaming for a cleansing;
calling for an inner peace dispensing;
wanting to remove the stains;
the scars from the
wounding rains
echoing pains
deep disdains

(chorus:)
I was looking for an image of purity,
radiating through silver glass at me,
but my poisoned reflection mocks;
the mirror's already dirty

I felt so filthy,
like all my flaws were seething through;
transparent but dusty;
scared of nature's brew.
I thought I'd finally broken free;
shed myself a brand new me.
Ready to see a friendly face
in myself, but it's too fucking late.

(repeat chorus 2x)

Wipe well with dry cloth,
but don't expect much to come off
Grim picture embedded in
corrupted soul with a sinister grin

(repeat chorus 2x)

December 15, 1995

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 10:05 PM

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