The silence of the lambs
Pulls the shepherd from the sheep
The brightness of the Sun
Pushes owls into sleep
The song of the nightingale
Awakens the dove
A child in the city
Deprived of trees' Love

When it rained, I was walking
I was walking.........
A hill, and up a red mountain
Upon asking
direction of an
Old man, who stood
strangely shouting,
At haggard old cattle
with oddly human faces
For the life of me
Pouting....................

I learned, when it rained
On my own journey home
Through the unwise
Old man's country
Is that its your
own life
thats owned
By things you invest in
So claim a strong interest
in clearing yourself of them.

Made for the making
you are, for yourself
not for some other.
Do not bleed for
Another, who throws
Your dreams to the wind.

Im held by my feelings
In aspic, and nitre
a tired shepard
Of wayward thought/sheep
That wander on hills
that I have invented
In  mind's eye
and blurred rainy sleep.

But the rain you create will
Drown you, if careful
You allow yourself
Open to downpour
Of thought/water,
that you've
Created from
rivers of
clocks and alarms
that run
Ever over
Rocks of experience
you crash into
When safe from all harm.....

As years pass
They grow
More jagged
Hazard stones
And dangerous
The grow
On your soul.

And in the knowing
It's your life
You are saving........
So be grateful
for ageing
it's useful
To know
When to stop
At the whole.

Is there time in
a grain, to be thought
as a quantum
of realness or
real, and realness can be
when our world is of quanta-
reality-grit
how is the thought/world
revealed?

Are we our senses
Like fruit we have
peeled? Who watches us
Close by from inside?
As thoughts get revealed.
Is he as close as
your necked vein?
As they say in some places?
These questions are hard
And they pose harder
Answers.  

So  consider
yourself, take courage
In living
For the void is a terror
Yet we all live
Within it
Infinite, unchanging

I'm scared for possible
futures
Running from
fixed pasts
Chasing hazed out rainbows
That long I have clung to,
How long can it possibly last?
I have dug many holes
Will I find one at last?

I don't know, but I do,
But telling is hard
For in telling truth
you must be
Honest
And honesty is a slippery
Concept, is it not?

When it rained, I was walking
I was walking
A hill, and red mountain
Upon asking
direction of a
Mad man,
stood shouting
At the cattle with faces
For the life of me.....
......................
Pouting

That man was me
No longer the stranger
My hills I have
Crossed, and knowing
The danger
Warn passers
That their paths
Can be crossed
When it rains.