The hot blooded moon has been there since noon waiting for someone or something. When I stand in my window, I feel like a shadow, waiting for eventual spring. I met a stranger somewhere, with a voice so clear though his meaning was harder to find; one look in his shop worn eyes made it easy to surmise he’d seen it all one too many times.
Hungry like a preacher’s son; I feel like I’ve just begun; play the Jack, and hold back the eight. I had so much to prove, and it wasn’t my best move, though I saw that just a little too late. The air that I breath, the footsteps I leave; Lay claim to the ground where I stand to the marks that I make, a cry and a splash in the lake water on the desert sand.
This Life of Ours
The world is painted on the sky in strokes of moonlight and dawn. It shimmers and shifts as we walk by like a memory that's almost gone. As we look into its moonlit folds and finally see where we are, we can see tales already told or we can see this life of ours.
The walls between the worlds grow thin, revealing rooms of stone. Ancient spirits dwell within; the weak, the strong, the unknown. I see a door with a rusted hinge standing dark and ajar; the door swings open, do we dare look in? in this life of ours...
Well, I've been weak and I've been tough I've been a little ground down by the years. I've learned that we none of us live long enough to confront all of our fears. Some people fear loneliness, some fear heights, some fear the light of the stars. Be it wrong or be it right, I have had this life of ours.
A Simple Act of Faith
The shade brings memories of the sun, the sun brings memories of thirst; Thirst brings memories of the water; water brings me memories of Earth. The Earth brings memories of the Moon, the Moon brings memories of space; Space brings memories of the stars, and stars bring memories of a simple act of faith...
A Traveling Case
Place my dreams in a traveling case so they can find their way home. Place my heart in a secret place so my desires will be my own Place my feet on a path of stone, my hands on a tiller that I have known.
The water in the stream floats by, history's written in a sigh. Undisturbed by what we believe, destiny’s written in the fallen leaves. In the still of the night, when wrong seems right, our fortunes are told by birds in flight.
Canary in an Ancient Mine
Across the plains of memory, the full moon sets and day begins; things we count and things we see, the swaying grass, the hollow wind... The swaying grass that keeps the time like a chime that seeks release. Canary in an ancient mine, taster at the emperor’s feast.
Some people you know by their song, and some you know by the things they sell. Walk across the sacred lawn, these fields of the wishing well. These fields of the wishing well that sing, as the questing stream, as the unsure wind. Choose the things that you will bring, and remember, in the end.
Who knows what the prophets see, who knows what the wise men think? We head with greatest certainty to the well from which we dare not drink. To the well we dare not find which reflects the most but shows the least. Canary in an ancient mine, taster at the emperor's feast.
We were too clever by a half, too stupid by a whole. Drinking from an old carafe, singing songs we used to know. Dancing with a witch’s brood, in some ancient moonlit clearing- Sing a song of solitude to anyone who's within hearing.
The horse breaks cover at the pass, sunlight shining through the trees. Last day’s journey going fast, heading for the moonlit sea; Heading for the moonlit shoal, the waiting boat, the distant chime; The night belongs to other souls; may they profit from the time.
Pack the basket, pour the tea., be sure to bring enough to drink We shuffle towards eternity on a horse that stops too long to think. Though it’s hard to tame the beast, still I stand and guard the time; Taster at the emperor’s feast; canary in an ancient mine.
Do you remember when? Well, that was then; and then was when that was, my friend. In the mist and the mystery, in the sunlit dust of history, is a door we won't walk through again. You take a rose and you plant it, you take something for granted, it can be gone like a song you forgot. I hear a muffled chime that tells me that I'm learning how to tell time more clearly than any clock.
Regrets are like highway men, they take what they think they can and leave the rest in a ditch. They will sell you your dreams and old worn out schemes 'till you hardly know which is which. In the evening’s spell even God cannot tell the falling of every leaf. The silent, staring sky hardly blinks an eye while things go on below that you would hardly believe.