A Hedonistic Lullaby

I have dropped my raisins
into my cereal countless times,
never understanding
they might not want to be
wallowing in milk
or keeping cornflakes company.

Dream of azure skies,
swim in coral seas,
I’ll dream of you,
and you dream of me.
Dance with the wind,
play in the trees,
I’ll dream of you,
and you dream of me.

A hubcap,
beaten and warped
on its only edge
tries desperately to shine
in the noon-day sun
lying by the side of the road
propped haphazardly against the curb.

Can you sing
like a bird,
throaty whistles
cheerfully sung?
Imagine
for a moment each song
were a story
and we
blind to this book.
Disjointed.
Useless.
Unnoticed.

And still the tears roll on
crashing helplessly
leaving small puddles on
the scarred, marble floor
of Mother’s love.
Attired, ready for success,
quick ambition sets out
in search of fortune
with trembling excitement
but is beaten down,
rendered undone,
by friends wearing green coats
and matching masks –
unknowingly identified
when the lineup occurred.

I sit beneath a huge oak,
in the shade of
its large, green leaves
and I make pictures
of clouds
like I did when I was young.
I remember stealing kisses,
and playing hide and go seek –
the taste of pistachio on
a hot summer’s day,
right down to the crunchy cone.

I remember
Mommy fixing my hurts,
her soothing voice carrying
my pain away like magic.
I remember
racing around the neighborhood
on my big-wheel –
with a flat spot on the front tire.

– Eric William Hinton
10/12/93

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Poetry and writings