A paper slip
that’s crossed in lines
Invites the pen
like grapes to vines.
A swallow high
upon the wing
Is no more free
than slaves who sing.
The dirt below
and stars above,
Will outlive words
of what we love.
07.09.23
A paper slip
that’s crossed in lines
Invites the pen
like grapes to vines.
A swallow high
upon the wing
Is no more free
than slaves who sing.
The dirt below
and stars above,
Will outlive words
of what we love.
07.09.23
This road keeps on through day and night,
Further now from habits formed,
The vehicle that carries me
Brings me closer to my harm.
I know that as these wheels turn more
The pain I must endure nears.
This is the only way to form
New strength against my in-bred fears.
As questions form about the task
And fears return to whisper doubts,
I force myself to trust to fate
That from comfort drew me out.
This road keeps on and I with it,
Growing better day by day;
Though at this point I’m fighting still,
I look with longing down the way.
11.1.19
The songwriter told of a boy in a bubble,
That boy he grew older and wiser each day.
‘Till eventually trauma his bubble had burst,
And reality found a sad place to stay.
Life can get hard and seem to lack meaning
Life pushes in and our comfort destroys.
The boundaries formed, no longer protecting;
The walls that we built are shown to be toys.
The cares of the world held the man in a whirlwind;
Without his protection he felt his soul rust.
As year after year weighed more on his mind
His care to live longer was filed to dust.
In his moment of dying no one was present
To see how he did it or even ask why.
But he has found now his bubble again,
And floats all alone through the dark dreary sky.
11.6.19