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She walks with steady rhythm
Down hollow empty halls
And no one hears her cryin’
No one cares at all.

Oh won’t you hear her cries?
Wants to live and wants to die.

The band plays tear-stained muzak
So deep inside her head
Ancient choirboys whistle tunes
Tellin’ Maggie she is dead.

Swiftly, strictly, madly
Stumbling through the doors.
Outside into darkness
As the Windy City blows.

Oh won’t you hear her cries?
Wants to live and wants to die.

Maggie screams in silence
Trudging through the snow.
Wandering through the distance
Nowhere left to go.

Someone greets her brightly
Stuffs paper in her hand.
Tells her Jesus loves her
Maggie, she can’t understand.

She screams into the darkness
God are you even there!
No one stops to listen
No one seems to care.

Oh won’t you hear her cries?
Wants to live and wants to die

Oh won’t you hear the cries
Of Maggie and other lives?

Turn into the darkness
Shine a light right there.
Open up the heavens
Tell Maggie someone cares.

Oh won’t you hear her cries?
Wants to live and wants to die

Oh won’t you hear the cries
Of Maggie and other lives?

The simple truth is told in tale
And truth it still remains.
One man cared, one man died
For Maggie and her pain.

The message spread throughout the world
‘Oft as it is told
Some hear the tale and don’t believe
Others look toward streets of gold.

Oh won’t you hear her cries?
Wants to live and wants to die

Oh won’t you hear the cries
Of Maggie and other lives?

 

© John A. Taylor, 2014

A note about this poem, and the poetry on this site: Maggie is based on a real person I once knew, a young woman, who like many of us at the time, had lost her way.

I have written variations of this piece since 1982, but have never been satisfied with the results (including the one presented here). For some reason, I haven’t yet found the words to adequately convey what I have wanted to express. It is meant to be a bit kitschy, expressing some of the innocence and ideology of the early “Jesus Movement,” along with the true simplicity of the Christian message. It’s not meant to be viewed as high art.

I share this peace simply to share a part of my inner world.

Most of the poems on this site are really rough drafts. Initial thoughts posted for the world to see. Were I ever to seriously consider publishing a work of poetry, you can be assured that most of the poems, including these would be reworked several times over. Even some of these drafts will surely change over time. As currently written, these pieces are simply one method I use to process a variety of thoughts, which I often find helpful as I’m doing deeper, more serious thinking.

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We must live in this world. I live in it with, and through, literature.

~ Wendy Lesser, Why I Read: The Serious Pleasure of Books

 

Why I Read: The Serious Pleasure of Books

by Wendy Lesser [Farrar Straus & Giroux]
Rank/Rating: 566276/-
Price: $14.01

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Frozen in time
An image never moving
Faded by age
Forgotten by years

Colors invisible
As I look into the past
The collective memory gone
A mystery…

Your dreams lie
Beneath a stone
Dimmed by history
Obscured by dust

 

© John A. Taylor, 2014

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Philosophy begins and ends in the realm of plumbers and love and aching backs and hangovers and beauty and painted toenails…

~ Scott Samuelson

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Life… is a mystery so inexplicable that the knowledge of the educated and the ignorant is purely relative when contemplating it.

~ Albert Schweitzer

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“A society that believes in nothing can offer no argument even against death. A culture that has lost its faith in life cannot comprehend why it should be endured.”

~ Andrew Coyne

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