Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Driftwood Did Good...

Linger slow, the burning ghost,
Telling me less, no truth you spoke,
Drink my heady wine, I am the host,
Lost deep in poetry eyes, your soul awoke...
Now we can talk freely.
Linger in the middle old soul,
Don't rush in, rush out & fold,
Weary eyes don't cry don't lie,
Rest my turning head & wonder why,
Ponder signs of special times...
Now I'll sleep gently.
Little one you worry so,
It will pass, with windy rain swept river flow,
Flowers will whither & everyone you know will die,
Don't cry, don't sigh, little one, just try...
While you have little bones for feet.
Drive the line straight down the pines,
Earth & moon, weep through the tides,
Can you hear the call, hear the horn,
The animals are gathering, animals are born,
Listen to the echoes at the end of logs,
Pick my scent, feed your dogs...
From dark & water, now I'm born again.

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