The older I get, the more I realize my youthful dreams of being somebody were very dangerous. American celebrities and the groupies they attract worry me. If we’re always wishing we were someone else, can we ever find happiness?
Spotlight Gone – by Linda Athis
My eyes prefer shade,
as others seek light.
I crave cool safe-haven
to rest my body,
a blistered, wincing parcel,
ill from self-sought celebrity.
Do not seek it.
Do not wish it.
Once you get it,
can you lose it?
That warm temptress spotlight
will ravage your life.
Friends won’t be real.
Relatives are kinder.
Lovers come in quantity,
hiding hideous motive.
In a red-hot, sweaty, jealous fist,
the known squeeze tight their treasure,
and every new face,
exquisite body,
rare raw talent,
could easily snatch it,
like a most evil thief.
The known, they know this,
weep deeply inside,
for the helpless baby bird they clutch,
as the world plots to steal it.
This sad hatchling will never face age.
Never fly free,
find peace,
in seasons of life.
Do you have celebrity?
Don’t pause, don’t ponder.
Toss it like trash, like spit to cement.
Flee fast before you grab it back
and gasp at the kidnapper you choose to embrace.
Find fresh space, fresh fields,
search hard for the gem of the ordinary.
Talk not of yourself,
not of your past.
Walk away from those who knew you when.
Find instead, true family, true friends.
It is no sin
to leave no mark in this world.
It will still turn,
the stars will still shine.
And you, fortunate one,
at last will find
your ageless eagle inside.
