As I sit in silence I must confess

Of the wars that rage inside this chest

When the thoughts do slow, I go below

To meet a being that greets the blows


      I find a place that speaks of space

                 Emptied of ignorance that hates a race

                 How vast the canyon that is traversed

                 To walk as human, gently, on Earth


Exiled into bliss

And this time will be the last

The last thought

The last breathe

The last glimpse of an ordinary world

               As we enter each others well

               They grasp to catch one last glimpse of us

               But the ones they know are already gone

We tumble down through blue and white

Feeling the sense of each other

We are what home has always meant

Red then black, there is no longer a we

               So fast we erode stones do admire

               We within each other like heat and fire

               There is no world that will accept us as this

              Exile is greeted and sealed with a kiss


Are these grooved things not fit for better things?
They that tell a lifetime
Speak of evolution
Are they to be employed by illusion?

Twisting and turning
Bending and burning
Forging and fusing particles of the past
This dust cannot take form once more

And if this Vegas show would once more perform
surely its sights and sounds would betray

These distant images arise not from depths of clarity
But are summoned by the minions of longing

How true the air is striking the skin, now, at this perfect hour
Waste no more and wash these gifts at last
Let dust be dead as it is

Are these hands meant for disabled clutching?
For enduring the ritualistic death that fear brings about?
Let joints breath again and open to the world
Sounding pulsing instruments of awakened life

These beautiful extensions of love and gentleness;
To reach out
To touch
To pull oneself and also another upright into liberating posture

How true they move when the heart pulsates through these veins
How true the air is striking skin, now, at this perfect hour