Great Day Canzone

Hoping beyond our dreams; no more
listening to prophets who speak,
asking us to believe less is more
That truth or the word circling heaven is more
powerful than knowledge, naked
and pure. Not knowing more
than we do, but to love; doubting no more
Awaken to the ripe, red day
as if it were our only day
Not seeking, speaking or finding more
than what we’re blessed with. For today
could be the curtain closing on our final day

We continue yearning for days
rich and wild. We want more
than streams and rivers and oceans’ depths. Wasted days
spent as if we had forever. Day-
dreaming and destructive we speak
harshly of each turning, yearning day
Like serpents twisting, spitting venom; vowing one day
we’ll rise and heal wounds wound round naked
and noble as precious metal. In naked-
ness we reveal our tenderness and in a daze
forget our souls. Fade—trying to feel less—
without feeling alone and loveless.

Reason is beyond us. And feeling less
than empty, grief like leaves growing as the day
is numb. Once so sure now meaning less,
our grasp of understanding useless
We try with eyes round and raw, no more
to believe in our pain or painless-
ness. Love in vain like beggars penniless
Even finding jewels of poetry to speak,
or hear the voice of our beloved speak,
words of love and kindness that cost less
than anger cast upon our chest, so naked
and soft—like creation: new and naked

The babe born without knowing why she’s naked
in her little mind is less
than the smallest chick, hairless and naked—
held loose and dying in nature’s naked
grip. The ancient, graying day
grows restless, then casts naked
fearfulness on dreams and hopes. Naked
we awaken to terrors and more
terrors. Until we try no more
to break the cries rising from tongues falling naked
from the need to speak.

And leaving nothing to chance, not daring to speak
Into the echoing silence that opens to speak
to the young, rejoicing and lying naked
in their belief that nothing speaks
the truth like the heart. And promise to love
quietly—let the heart speak
Mankind stumbles on helpless
as the first voice crying out in wilderness for love to speak—
to pierce the darkness. The meek, choke back words and never speak
But wait until the bright, winding day
is young and crisp and wise as yesterday
Then to beat their breasts and speak
no more of dreams or love no more
To weep less, our hearts will break no more.

And silence falls once more
on the wise and lovers alike who speak
of truth and justice—lies laid naked
Still there are those brave and careless
enough to clothe themselves in wonder and dance into the
GREAT, GREAT DAY

—DARCY INFANTE