Parks, Rebecca

Playing God

You wanted to be the last answer,

To see the world thankful and awed.

You had a rare talent for magic.

You thought you would try playing God.

You came from such humble beginnings:

The fields and the house made of sod.

You must have been destined for greatness,

Or how could you be playing God?

I wanted to believe

In visions you would weave—

I was a bit naive.

You thought you could sense people's secrets,

But could not see your own facade.

You raged if your insights were questioned—

It's a serious game, playing God.

They're either below or against you,

They think you're a saint or a fraud.

And no one can comfort or warn you;

You're left all alone playing God.

I wanted to believe

In all that you'd achieve.

For that lost dream, I grieve.

You wanted to be the last answer…

© Rebecca June Parks

I Don’t Want to Tell You

You know that I grew up in East Colorado.

That I've lived overseas and was married before.

I dreamed about dancing but feared my own shadow.

I've left little unsaid, but you ask if there's more.

I don't want to tell you–

My story is missing a page.

A tale of a moment of weakness,

But I've become stronger with age.

I don't want you to see me

As the person I was years ago.

I don't want to tell you, 

And you don't want to know.

You once played a prank on a teacher you hated.

On a history test, you decided to cheat.

You once lied to lead on a woman you dated.

All I can say is that I've got you beat.

I don't want to tell you–

My story is missing a page.

A tale of a moment of weakness,

But I've become stronger with age.

I don't want you to see me

As the person I was years ago.

I don't want to tell you, 

And you don't want to know.

What happened to me wasn't pretty–

To tell you might ruin your day.

And I have no need for your pity, anyway.

I don't want to tell you–

My story is missing a page.

A tale of a moment of weakness,

But I've become stronger with age.

I don't want you to see me

As the person I was years ago.

I don't want to tell you, 

And you don't want to know.

© Rebecca June Parks

Kill His Memory

At the funeral this weekend,

They’ll treat him like a saint,

But you and I have secrets,

We know for sure he ain’t.

Who else did he mess up?

We’ve got to find them all,

And meet to plan a eulogy

Outside the schoolyard wall.

God sent our teacher’s soul to hell,

But we are still not free.

We have to dare to tell the truth,

To kill his memory.

Michael is the baseball star;

For sure they’ll let him speak.

He’ll call up the rest of us, 

The timid and the weak.

“This man took me against my will”

Is all you have to say,

And if you can’t go through with it,

Please don’t give us away.

God sent our teacher’s soul to hell,

But we are still not free.

We have to dare to tell the truth,

To kill his memory.

Were we close?  Yeah closer

Than anyone suspected.

Completely unprotected!

God sent our teacher’s soul to hell,

But we are still not free.

We have to dare to tell the truth,

To kill his memory.

© Rebecca June Parks

Scars

It's there on my face, but the mark on my skin

Doesn't show injuries deeper within.

The deadliest blade is the one you don't feel,

And wounds to the soul take the longest to heal.

Scars from the flesh to the blood to the bone,

Scars in my bed and the walls of my home,

Scars on my spirit and scars on my dreams,

My pain and my healing revealed at the seams.

He promised me love, changed my name, changed my life.

He dulled all my senses and sharpened his knife.

So many pieces of my heart and mind—

When I finally left him a piece stayed behind.

Scars from the flesh to the blood to the bone,

Scars in my bed and the walls of my home,

Scars on my spirit and scars on my dreams,

My pain and my healing revealed at the seams.

They bear testimony to what I've endured,

I'm smarter and tougher and more self-assured.

Scars from the flesh to the blood to the bone,

Scars in my bed and the walls of my home,

Scars on my spirit and scars on my dreams,

My pain and my healing revealed at the seams.

© Rebecca June Parks

Messiah Refugee

The light for which I used to search

I couldn't find in any church.

I found faith too all-consuming,

And the teachers all too human.

Religion lost its grip on me.

A guru has no mystery.

Some say I'm lost, I say I'm free.

I'm a messiah refugee.

I met with God of my own will,

Alone at night upon a hill.

Though skeptics call this grand psychosis,

Mystics used to call it gnosis.

Religion lost its grip on me.

A guru has no mystery.

Some say I'm lost, I say I'm free.

I'm a messiah refugee.

I won't join another's creed.

I have no desire to lead.

What's impossible to teach

Is within each person's reach.

Religion lost its grip on me.

A guru has no mystery.

Some say I'm lost, I say I'm free.

I'm a messiah refugee.

© Rebecca June Parks

Only I Know Me

You taught me most of what I know,

And yet I'm leaving even so.

You made a plan who I should be,

So sure, but only I know me.

You said my wish was your command,

But what you failed to understand

Was how I longed to simply be

My true self, only I know me.

Yes, I love you,

Yes, I'm grateful,

There's part of me that wants to stay.

What you're asking

I can't give you.

To save myself I walk away.

You say without you I can't win;

You're hoping that I'll just give in.

In your strong arms I can't be free;

Let go now, only I know me.

© Rebecca June Parks

Freedom Is Your Right

You’ve called me up to tell me

You want to run away.

You’ve given all you can, 

He’s given you no say.

In spite of all that’s happened, 

In a way you love him still,

Even standing on the brink 

Is taking all your will.

Your mind goes all directions as you think of what to do,

Though people hurt and people help, it all comes down to you.

You have what you need to bring an end to endless night:

Turn the key, unlock the door, and step into the light.

Blink away your tears and let your eyes reclaim their sight,

Seek out where you want to go, your freedom is your right.

He wasn’t always angry, 

He could be cold or kind.

And sometimes you were desperate, 

More often just resigned.

You thought that you could save him, 

Now you have to save yourself,

Looking in the mirror scares you, 

You see someone else.

Trying to remember who you were before he came,

Trying to believe me when I say you’re not to blame.

You have what you need to bring an end to endless night:

Turn the key, unlock the door, and step into the light.

Blink away your tears and let your eyes reclaim their sight,

Seek out where you want to go, your freedom is your right.

The time is now, the place is here.

The choice is yours, let go of fear.

You have what you need to bring an end to endless night:

Turn the key, unlock the door, and step into the light.

Blink away your tears and let your eyes reclaim their sight,

Seek out where you want to go, your freedom is your right.

© Rebecca June Parks

Other Ways to Fight

My father was a quiet man of faith and peace.

He wouldn’t stand against the Nazis and police

Who went around him when they charged the neighborhood.

I said to him, “We save ourselves, but don’t do good.”

He said, 

“There’s a time and place to take

A stand for what is right.

Many things you do by day

Are dangerous at night.

Trust me when I tell you—

There are other ways to fight.”

I had dreams of courage held in check by fear,

Of throwing stones and bombs—an underground career.

I wanted to avenge the deaths of friends from school.

I thought my Pa a coward when he said, “You fool.”

He said, 

“There’s a time and place to take

A stand for what is right.

Many things you do by day

Are dangerous at night.

Trust me when I tell you—

There are other ways to fight.”

The war ended, I grew up, moved to the U.S.A.

It wasn’t too long after that, my father passed away.

Last year I went back to my house in Germany.

Several Jewish families came and greeted me.

They told me that my father hid them all away.

Because of him, grandchildren are alive today.

There’s a time and place to take

A stand for what is right.

My father had great courage 

Hidden through a long dark night.

At last I see why he said,

“There are other ways to fight.”

© Rebecca June Parks

Aftermath

A busy street in Munich has a sign on the corner,

“Jewish shops were once attacked and burned.”

A teacher tells the history of the Reich’s rise to power,

Asking for the hardest lessons learned.


The ones who still remember have a look on their faces –

Sometimes it comes back in fitful dreams.

Reminders in the culture and the laws and the papers:

Freedom is more fragile than it seems.

They warn their neighbors and their children

Not to take that sordid path.

Through eighty years atonement, they’re still

Haunted in the aftermath.

The Nuremberg of rallies is a public park with concerts – 

Dylan sang of peace where Hitler stood.

Descendants of the leaders bear the weight of their surnames –

Most of them have tried to do some good.


When movements in some countries promise jobs and talk of greatness,

Germans have a sense of déjà vu.

But people so enthralled can only find out the hard way

Not to trust what’s too good to be true.

They warn their neighbors and their children

Not to take that sordid path.

Through eighty years atonement, they’re still

Haunted in the aftermath.

The pen of time writes on and on, but can’t erase.

No tears of guilt can wash away the dark disgrace.

The ghosts of Dachau cry to us, unsatisfied –

Remembrance cannot bring back all the lives denied.

They warn their neighbors and their children

Not to take that sordid path.

Through eighty years atonement, they’re still

Haunted in the aftermath.

© Rebecca June Parks

If You’ve Seen One Cult

Do not let appearances fool ya,

They all have similar ways to screw ya,

Whether they dress in robes or suits or jeans.

Whether they worship Christ or Buddha,

They’ll flatter, promise, push, and lure ya,

‘Til you’re adding to the leader’s means.

Cults proclaim they’re paradise city,

And hide the things that ain’t very pretty,

‘Til you’re too far in to just break free.

Those who fail to join are forgotten,

Those who leave are evil and rotten,

Even if they are your family.

If you’ve seen one cult, you’ve seen ‘em all.

If you’ve seen one leader, havin’ a ball,

If you’ve seen one group of followers fall,

If you’ve seen one cult, you’ve seen ’em all.

Most leaders want a boatload of money,

Some seduce each cute little honey,

Some make people jump because they can.

No matter how they use their power,

24/7 they’re star of the hour,

Groupies fight to be their greatest fan.

Not all cults are violent or scary,

Not all cults control who you marry,

But differences are mainly of degree.

Not all cults have God as their savior,

Some have a more political flavor,

But all are cults of personality.

If you’ve seen one cult, you’ve seen ‘em all.

If you’ve seen one leader, havin’ a ball,

If you’ve seen one group of followers fall,

If you’ve seen one cult, you’ve seen ’em all.

© Rebecca June Parks