Welling up from inside as the green wheel spins free,
And the pathway reopens with life energy.
The release of the pain or the joy or the fear,
Or a newly found truth in a miracle year.

As the gates open wide and emotions run free,
And we question the blessing or curse with, “why me?”
The support of two arms makes the burden so light,
A touch, a caress or embrace, so tight.

For the burden is lighter and the truth more profound,
And the joy is much greater when a sharer is found.
And the day is much brighter and the path quickly clears,
When two become one in the way of shared tears.

Lift your hand up, reach it out before you
There’s someone who adores you, right before your eyes.
Lift your hand up; join your hand with my hand,
That’s the way it was planned, vision of the wise.

Lift your feet up, walk along a new path
Find your soul’s own true path, it’s not very far.
Lift your feet up, you and I will meet up,
On some celestial street up, near our shining star.

We have yearned to find each other
In each new soul we’d discover,
But that “I’m home” feeling‘d quickly fade
I’ve dreamed of the day I’d find you,
Open my heart to remind you,
Of the pledge we made in heaven
On that special day.

Lift your hand up, reach it out before you
There’s someone who adores you, right before your eyes.
Lift your hand up; join your hand with my hand,
That’s the way it was planned, vision of the wise.

Lift your heart up, love has finally found you
It’s been all around you, as you now can see.
Lift your heart up; join your heart with my heart,
Let us make a new start, soaring, joyous, free!

© Victor Fuhrman

Old Anchor

An old anchor rests on a peaceful bay dock
Sixty years he has been aweigh
His iron is rusted from crown to his stock
As he dreams of his shining day

When his metal was young and his arms were strong
And his flukes and palms were grand
He steadied his ship and her souls the day long
As she docked in many a land

He knew many a rode and by cathead was stowed
As his ship traversed ocean and sea
And when mighty gales blowed, he held tight to his load
Making sure she would never break free

But with journeys and age and the turn of the page
Every story must come to an end
And this anchor, though sage, earned his pensioner’s wage
And now dreams on this dock, my friend

© Victor Fuhrman