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Autumn Whisperings

I know I don't have a chance

...........A Vision in Red and Blue..........

I see you walking down my street
a vision in red and blue
my heart stops, my tongue freezes,
for you are something new.


You're something special, something new,
something fresh out of the blue.
But I pass on by, hardly give you a glance
because I know I don't have a chance.

Your posture is perfect, your face a marvel,
your walk is grace, each step a dance
Your eyes are soft, your hands are gentle
and I know I don't have a chance.

When you smile, my world transforms.
Darkness brightens, and sadness comes to end.
Yet somehow there is still a tinge of despair
for I know, to me you will never descend.

(chorus, ending with:)
because I know, I don't have a chance
don't have a chance...
don't have
a chance.


And yet another song. I have no idea where this came from. Love songs aren't my type. x_x Especially since I'm female. Oh well. This doesn't have music to it yet.




Ki posted her poem on 16 July in PostPoems, one of a last group of four on that date, she never came back again except possibly to revise. She was less than two months away from being locked up in the prison/psychiatric facility Eitanim.

Although as an inpatient she didn't have computer access, she could still write with pencil/paper, she worked on her short story "Cut" while there, posted it later and it's linked in the link list on this homepage.

from "Cut":

"...the metal shines dully in the dim light of her bedroom...she presses the blade against her skin almost gently, then lifts it and watches a narrow line of red appear...she looks at the blue veins of her arm, the blood in the veins, kept blue and ignorant of the cold world outside..."

Like everything Ki wrote, her story jumps with living images.

When we met in her dorm room, one of the things she proudly showed me was a coat, one that she'd bought online (she didn't put it on.) It was black, and it had two concealed pockets along the inside forearm of each sleeve, the silver zippers hidden under black flaps, you had to know exactly where to look. She unzipped one, showed me that it had a vivid scarlet lining (the color jumped off the black) and it was designed to be long enough to conceal a knife. Wearable armor. A defensive personal weapon. Presumably.

When I listened to her speak the poem in my heart, one of the things I remembered was that I saw practically no one on the street in Israel who was literally wearing garments in a red-blue combination, they would tend toward earth tones. (Unless they were Western tourists, haha.) Especially sporting military-related olives and khakis, brown or black boots. So the message was not to be taken literally --- the "vision in red and blue" is metaphorically our blood, rich with oxygen and depleted of it.

I know I don't have a chance?

In her story, the storyteller rises above her bed and looks down at herself cutting. Then, "she floated so high she could no longer see her body, only the black of space and sky."

The chance to float, to fly, she not only has that chance, she chooses to.

What this says --- on which level --- is very personal to each one of us. As our lives change and we choose first this, then that.

(And who are you going to see walking down *your* street today?)

Blessings Be from Brad/Silverplate88 co-Mod