I’m talking in a storm to the calm world.
I’m talking in a storm to the hushed room.
In the courtroom the storm is harnessed.
I am witness to it’s troubled past.
How wind and sea were bad parents,
How wave grew to angry sea.
The past of the storm is legendary,
The child of famous parents, his identity was lost.
The wayward wind was never home-
The sea would send him to foreign shores.
I’m talking in a storm to the quiet world:
To the judge I talk with tears of troubled years.
Can you hear my pleas?
So used to telling tales am I.
You may not believe I’m real,
But would I be here if I didn’t care.
That’s all I can say.
Yes I was a wayward parent,
With storms of my own to deal with.
Fame brought self-indulgence.
I thought I could ignore my own storms.
I left them to be picked up by my child.
My child is now on trial here for his life
And the storm has returned to its homeport
After causing a trail of destruction.
I’m talking in a storm to the calm world.
So inwardly I look; outwardly I cannot cope.
1994
I was inspired by the story of Marlon Brando’s son who I think killed someone. I was interrupted by someone and was not able to finish exploring the subject with its fascinating and complex layers of emotion.
