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"Shelter From The Storm"

Bob Dylan


'Twas in another lifetime one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue, the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness a creature void of form
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Not a word was spoke between us there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Now there's a wall between us something there's been lost
I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed
Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker he blows a futile horn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I've heard newborn babies wailing like a mourning dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
Do I understand your question man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

In a little hilltop village they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation and she gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence, I got repaid with scorn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well I'm living in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge someday I'll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
in our thots, as we shelter-in-our-place Fla. refugees
 Sep 2017 Mike Hauser
Seema
My eyes unfolds
What is seen
Yet untold
For the mysteries
It secretly holds
I have yet to mould
My heart to be bold
To reveal the cold
A truth, unspoken
To talk about it
Is to break, what's broken
But its a burden to hold
The clay sage, has eyes of gold
I've seen it, in the nights cold
The clay sculpture
Made by the potter
Grew an inch shorter
I am too scared to tell
None will believe me
And thus, they will sell
I don't know if it's a good omen
But this is unusually uncommon
I need to find out who else has seen
Perhaps together we can gleam
The mystery behind the golden eyes
Or am I just hallucinating and threading the lies
One way to find out that I am still sane,
Tonight I shall unveil the truth behind this game...


©sim
Fictional

Goodnight all....that's all for today...too many stories spilling off my mind. Got to put myself to sleep ;)
All the good things
I remembered
They came like a flood.

Cynthia Jean 2017
After a visit to my Grandmother's house....after 37 years. Especially seeing her sun parlor again.;I have a previous poem written called " Grandma's Sun Parlor". Such a joyous and healing visit! Very overwhelmingly profound for me.  It was my one place I went to for unconditional love. I cried tears of joy.  The love was still there.
Tears of love

They are not joyful ones

But, I believe

necessary.

They flow

along with my prayers,

for my offspring

some of whom

are

the prodigals.

Cynthia Jean 2017
Our doggie

needed a home

loves to play

brings her toys

cuddles up

brings such joy

to hurting hearts

a balm to us

fills that place

of pain

for her

for us.

Cynthia Jean 2017
what a gift and blessing our Lydia has been for the past year....a perfect gift from God.
I wanna have lunch with Poe,
at Burger King,

because I'm sure he would appreciate how ghoulish that King in their commercial is

I don't want him to recite verse
while we fill our medium cups with corn syrup nectar--a giant leap
down from laudanum

I do want to ask about the Cask of Amontillado and being walled in slowly, for eternity

for to me that is creepier than all the crimson cream in the Masque of the Red Death

I want to know if he likes the fries--will he dare to dip them in scarlet paste we call catsup

mostly I want to know if he remembers the alley where he was found,

not yet a legend, consumed by consumption and delirium in equal measure

and if there were rodents privileged to hear his last whispered words--or even a gasp

I am buying, Ed, so grab that Whopper with both bony paws and tell me terrible tales, evermore
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