straight and easy is the path of righteousness
The late childhood days and the early youth make seem so easy
With passion and contentment I take it with ease
With a smile and an eager heart I join the soldiers of the cross to tell of the master of it.
Marching over was never hard .
You see this path has so many perfect derailed paths attached to it.
A perfect path of love has a path of hatred to it
A path of joy has a path of sadness to it
A path of peace has a path of war to it
And yes this is a path of righteousness but with a derailment called sin
Very tempting, absolutely charming
My eyes glaze to this path and see no point of this path of righteousness.
Great is your faithfulness O Lord
But exciting is this path
Or so it seems.
One mistake
Waiting on the path of righteousness to stare at this derailed path
You see, an idle mind is the devils play ground
The derailed path of danger
Pulling so many to its fold
Only by a simple glance.

Derailed huh?
Like the train is off the track?
Maybe.

Or maybe not.
Like the train took a wrong turn.
I think.

The wrong junction.
Diverted at the wrong intersection.
Maybe.

Conductor confused.
Wondering where it went wrong.
Yeah.

But still
You're on the tracks love.
No doubt.

like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore

reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)

bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!

duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields

meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar strip wedged on the white wash dock)

baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift