A walk to Home

Watch the fishes run on stream underneath the sun
Reflections have become a picture of yellow dandelion
Hear the birds they crow for food inside their young
Light breeze bows the corn as horses play for fun
Footpaths stretching long going everywhere beyond
I walk across fields and roam till the road I end upon
The brambles trail near the telegraph pole but the stream beneath me carries on under a bridge beside the rail station
Beyond that the stream goes low underneath were the rocks mix with stone and you can hear it as the silence on the street beneath the stream finds it's way to home.

Freedom sound

I was looking for freedom and Lord it could not be found
I went to look in Cities and roamed from town to town
Freedom is the rarest of the like we will ever see as on desert boots we pound and pound
Sleep on the edge of midnight and keep away everything that may surround
To dream is to be fully aware and awake to images and mind processes that change the way you feel and then when you come close you awaken to listen to a very special sound
Trouble isn't trouble until trouble is all around

Butchery


Smoke Grey pluming warms the air and smells of wood that snaps when hotter as I build around it's crackling birch
Brown leaves carpet the ground and trees dark green covered in moss and mold then eventually at the top a crown
Light blue skies and white clouds passing me mesmerize the total mind to complicity
I am warm though the world is cold may my autumn fire reach hearts who need to be bold
Beauty has been misplaced by structure but only the blind man will see what we have butchered.

Forget never

Tenderness is all I can give to you
A touch of my hand to stop the blues
A sympathetic look knows I have felt that way too
I want to hold you in my arms all night through
I wandered out in the world and listened to voices new
I was a child but now a man of simple wants it's true
I opened my eyes and cried a tear for the child that grew
What a white cloud that covers the faults inside me and the morning dew.

The room

If silence has a place then it must be a room
No bigger than you would expect or smaller with a sense of gloom
Not that silence portrays misery just that if meant in time purgatory could scoop out the evil with a large dessert spoon
Contemplation is said to be good for the soul then why hasn't anyone in thousands of years ever transcended to a higher level of understanding the universe or are we reaching for the stars too soon
Maybe within ourselves we know why we draw rivers with ripples of the almighty vision the moon
The science fiction movies made to take us places that we can never reach or see because we are born of a monkey and that is innate sealing our doom
The whole of the Earth exploding until silence and a gloom that shatters the moon then total doom but you will always have the room

Clear water flowing down river gently
Lemon yellow horses

The sun seems to just fall off the edge of the world mentally
Clay walls are all around us watching every movement constantly
There is a dark green serpent with large yellow eyes floating languidly
Choosing which of us he wants to eat but if you stroke him on the head he will treat you cautiously
The river yawns and turns enthralls and carries mysteries that are legendary
Soon we reach our camp for the night and dreams of masks that are painted white protect me from evil spirits and perhaps us them equally
Swimming closeness hair like lemon yellow roses then look up at the diamond stars that shine and race like a million racing horses come quietly

Old friends

This old world has lost it's friends
Even the animals are becoming more extinct and nature cannot defend
I sit and watch a butterfly on the edge of a flowering bush it's doing it's job no credence can comprehend
We as a civilization have not protected that which means more than us and that is freedom of the soul if you can try and send
All I see is destruction covered by a sheet of lies after lie to try and keep people conformed with no vision as I write in ink forever penned
I or any man has hope for a brand new day but it's getting harder to see it my brand new friends.

The world will die.


So called freaks of nature are a reminder and a warning that we are not in control
Forces of ancient times past before man or beast lived the world fashioning an excellence so beautiful it would blind you to behold
The world was so perfectly made that life had to happen it could not stop or be told
At the birth of organisms that soon will shape the earth into it's own dream became many fold
Soon life was everywhere and land was precious to all who knew the power it bestowed
A belief that everyone should live with the same rights as the man standing beside him became archaic even old
If the world doesn't change then the earth will die with it and the sun will not shine nor moon because of a perfect idea that have taken our souls.