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Barrymore was in a hurry
without a moment to waste
across the great divide of time
the width of too much space
He reached into his pocket
but the token did not find
the turnstile wouldn’t budge an inch
and then it crossed his mind
To fly across the frontier
To find another way
continue with his mission
or be deterred with this delay
It seemed as if the moments
all compressed as one
hours within seconds
since his dilemma had begun
a kindly motion woke him
then in his hand a token
he passed the turnstile’s barrier
and he turned to thank the man
the crowd was like a river
the waves of people tossed
his benefactor washed away
and soon was mixed and lost
Barry caught the train
without a moment’s waste
across the great divide of time
and the width of too much space
across the great divide of time
and the width of too much space
across the great divide of time
and the width of too much space
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Another day…
The mass of souls in transit
a thousand unsung songs
united by separate unity
the path that’s ever long
They share the same direction
But go their separate ways
each searching for the same thing
each acting in their own plays
At each stop someone gets off
and someone else gets on
Repeating and repeating
The path that’s ever long
Barry waits for his turn
standing in the turnstile line
He feels this takes forever
But it’s really only time
The man in front of Barrymore
Was searching frantically
He couldn’t find the token
Seemed an eternity
Barrymore had bought an extra
So he pushed it into the slot
The man, surprised, was pushed forward
He went through like a shot
The man looked to find his benefactor
He looked left and then looked right
Barrymore slipped into the crowd
And disappeared from sight
The man caught his train
without a moment’s waste
across the great divide of time
and the width of too much space
©2019 Lance Harrison
Again, the music came first. A groove in my head. I gave the song a random association title. I thought the drums reminded me of Barrymore Barlow, one of the great drummers from Jethro Tull, and I have no idea why I thought of a turnstile. It was just a part of the random chaos that is my brain. A friend that had listened to the music said it was good but, what’s the story? So, I asked myself, what would be the drama at a turnstile? Losing my strip of tickets without cash in my pocket and therefore missed the train to an important destination. Then perhaps an act of kindness was in order, and the story was born. It seems that once I know the story, the telling comes easy. The words flowed out.
