Listening just now to U2, I remembered that I have one more poem to share from my trip down college melodrama lane. I inadvertently wrote this one, badly entitled "Voice of the Storm," about The Edge. He does backing vocals on all U2 tracks, in addition to lead guitar, and his oh-oh-ohs in the background of "Stay (Faraway, So Close)" inspired this. I was an idiot sophomore without an umbrella, listening obsessively to U2 while walking to and from class. I wish ordinary things like that would inspire verse in me today. All I get, instead, is long-winded prose that no one ever reads (except poor Keven).
Sky like the rinse-water of a paintbrush
From a palate of blue and white, and
Rain mingles with my grief and tastes of Heaven -
Not of my body's own salt.
Racehorse clouds gallop eastward,
Feral and brimming intense.
I've never been where they're going,
But a heart gaze would tell of my daydreams.
When orchestra swells are fury magnified
And his voice cries caustic in the dark,
I am not a molded woman.
I am not lost, but breathless and grand.
Fingertips trace lightly with savage blindness -
A beautiful gunshot harmony of insinuation.
Oh, to leave through the front gate,
To join him, I would.
I would hold Pandora's hand as she looked inside.
I would be swallowed up inside myself, rocking,
Beyond or away or agony or joy
Or walking in an autumn storm.
Lindsey Stone
October 24, 1995
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