a hymn of mad props

if i could sing a hymn it would be praise except i would look for a similar less religious word i might say props i might say mad props i might say a hymn of mad props and my hymn would attempt to enumerate every good thought or thing i ever accidentally had or saw or will

and in it would be contained remembrance of simple happinesses which have dotted the rushing timeline of this improbable and amazing feat a lifetime such as this

it would contain involuntary irrepressible laughter it would contain vistas blinding in their splendor

it would contain random kindness made for the rush and the crush

and the kick it would contain quiet moments that break the rush of time with iron-walled presence

it would contain the addict locked in desperate battle with his addiction

it would be replete with dances all the soaring leaps and twists and rolling somersaulting landings i have wished were my limbs and may have mistaken they were but for watching them

it would contain the song of the toddler finding his voice

if i could sing a hymn of mad props it would contain that kind of sad drama so achingly perfect it spears the heart open and softens every perception with a wide warm wash and glow it would contain every sorcerer's phrase timely spoken that rent the veil of the me i can't stop thinking about

it would contain the stories of every flavor and culture from which the hero emerges and conquers all by conquering self

it would contain my mother and father my sister and my brother and all those ordinary saints who have filled that role from my first breath

if i could sing a hymn of mad props it would contain that pan-being phenomena friendship it would especially contain the faith and trust of any person hazarding their fortune on Other the only investment of any kind that is worth anything in the end

and it would be a hymn so large so as to include without exception any is that is and it would be a hymn so beautiful because its contents were so worthy the entire universe of a mind which may be touched and moved

and it would be a hymn made of that great attitude gratitude among the highest of all thoughts

and if such a hymn of mad props were sung as i wished it to be then it wouldn't need an organ or guitar or keys

but it would be the sound of my day tomorrow and forever after though it sound like car horns and shower heads and clanking trash bottles and computer keys and crickets and jet engines and sizzling fry pans and televisions and sunday churches and mosques and footfalls and sirens

and i would dedicate it to the Teacher and the teachable heart

if i could sing a hymn of mad props