Todays tears in our eyes
from hearing a voice, a song back then
could quench an aching world,
if we’d just all fall in love….again.

O’ gather up those endured sorrows
my lovely friends of yesteryear and morrow
and set sail on these saline streams…
toward remember-when – foretold in dreams.

There – time and distance, have no say
There – we RE-arrive to not part ways
and what was once,
is happily, magically…always.

It won't be long.
It won't be long
until you find yourself
running to the platform
with your suitcase
faltering over the cracks
in the concrete.
As the train pulls out
you see blinding fears
diminish and then
disappear entirely.
You see false love
for what it is
and then thank whoever
for your opportunity
to experience it.
It won't be long
until those psalms of travel
become a reality.
Until you are removed
from your pigeon-hole
and post-code
which have been tagged
to you since birth.
You can replace
them with a new name
or in the different way
you apply your eye-liner
and look across
the new rooms
you frequent.
It won't be long
until you find yourself.
I promise,
it won't be long.

Again the dark morning...

This is my time
Before the rub and pace of life thickens to frenzy;
With hope like starlings murmuring in my blood.

Nothing happens.
The soul is reappointed
that is all.
These feelings feed me with their grace.

“In the beginning was the word…”

Maybe…

but Is not being first
With words following after like a beggar?
There are so many things before the word
And more again before the stumbling tongue.

Yet this is where I spend my stillness;
Somewhere after the dawn of time
Sometime before the birth of being,
Where substance hasn’t quite existed yet.
Here I search for words.
Here,
In the melting,
I touch the new made voice of God

We're all looking for that bigger high,
we're all looking for a match,
a retreat into a field of wine,
with a roof made out of thatch.

The gulls cry out across the quay,
a prayer naught but an angry mob;
they are searching for eternity,
they are doing it all for G-d.

The solider cries into his ballast sleep
in the analogue plains of war,
no poppy to **** the pain so steep,
no desire to ****, no more.

We're all looking for that higher love,
we're all looking for that 'it',
a life beyond land-mine and slaughter,
beyond false outrage and solemn submit.