Idris Phillips
January 1958 – July 2022

Eight Years Old

That open pain,
That you looked through,
Let in the storm of life that blew
All your notes upon the ground –
Took out the lights and killed the sound.
But your time has come around.

Now there’s a young woman and a young man,
Who fell hard while you were seeking truth.
Kisses good-bye, you kissed the sky and you kissed away their youth.
Some sick or sacred plan,
For a young woman and young man.

Time seems cold, each day we grey away.
Believe the lies that we’ve been told, “Lose our way lose yesterday.”
They say, but who are they?
Who are they anyway?
They didn’t hear us play at eight years old.

A treasure map you didn’t lose.
The lines to follow if we choose.
Stand now to take the bow, we may be so surprised to learn,
There’s one bridge you didn’t burn.

Time seems cold, each day we grey and fray.
Believe the lies that we’ve been told, “Lose our way lose yesterday.”
They say, but who are they?
Who are they anyway?
They didn’t hear us play at eight years old.

We’re eight years old.

~ Dawud Wharnsby