Sometimes

©2007 Wayne Cook
A minstrel sings songs that sometimes tell a story
His stories are often made of blood and history
You can hear his guitar softly like a Sunday rain
And often love lost pushes through the poet’s pain

For a story is nothing less or more
Than a song that just cracks a door
And you’re left with emptiness for the rest to be told
But you and I both know that life is full of holes

Questions come but the minstrel just nods and sings
No answers come of this wise old poet king
The pain of desire unsatisfied, you start to feel tired and old
But the song and its interrogation go on and on

But stories nearly always pull us to the fire’s distorted grin
We rather enjoy the telling of the other man’s tasty sin
Transgression and forgiveness, not always hand in hand
You eyes tell a tail that isn’t hard to understand

Sometimes the repentance of our sins seems endless
Sometimes the fire just burns and dulls us
Sometimes the answers come for questions yet to be said
Sometimes those answers are just a crust of unsatisfying bread