A man who had lived his life in D Minor,
This man whom life had given a shiner,
Humbled and begged by the all night diner.
And spoke of a woman, how he nestled beside her.

His beard was stricken with soot and grey.
So grey that none could love it away.
Not to the color of amber of the fields that sway.
For the lips he had kissed had been led astray.

He spoke of forgiveness for a woman's misdeeds
And how her eyes were as blue as the seas.
To love often and treat hate like disease.
I could not outgive what he imparted to me.

You would cause as much damage, too,
If your love was ripped from you.
You would beat mercilessly on rooftops and rain
As much as the world could hold and remain.
You would tear families and loved ones apart
Just like she stole, from your chest, your heart.
But even your most gentle touch, when beginning anew,
Would cause heartache and crush marrow and sinew.

Down amongst the sorrows,
Amidst the muck and mire,
Where naught and trouble grows
And love waits to expire.
Where a lover's blue eyes
Can quickly turn black.
There, love is a lie
You can never retract.

Down amongst the sorrows,
Where I found myself ensnared,
I felt as if the gallows
And rope await me there.
But the executioner's smile
Was as beautiful as the sea,
For the hand that held the rope
Was of she that once held me.

When last I had seen merry England
It was tattered with midnight soot that beckoned the denouement of the human condition.
Begrudgingly, the people meandered with heads held low
And dreams held lower.
The simplest way to determine the societal standings of each and all was by their clothing; save that all of their dispositions were ones of the played out and spent.
Happiness lay mountains, valleys, oceans away.

Aboard this great ship,
This hulking bumberdun of wood and steel,
I felt at ease.
Even upon these hostile tides did I feel an unraveling away of the self imposed mummifications that I had attached to myself.
I arose when I pleased,
I dined when I pleased,
And I drank as I pleased.
And not one such "captain" ****** himself with the responsibility of slavedriving.
No one had to.
For the man that suaded the great ship was John Franklin,
A man who commanded as much respect as we could muster.
And who deserved more honor than existence could give.

Franklin was never seen out of form,
Perpetually at the fore and scanning the horizons
Seemingly as if he could see beyond what that of a mortal man could,
What that of a mortal man should.
When we happened upon the mouth of the passage,
Naught but a slight smile escaped him
As the crew drank and shouted with jubilant glee that one might expect from a cathedral when the Lord Almighty had fell upon that place.
For this was Franklin's church
And this was his religion.
Had he believed himself to be God it would not have seemed so far fetched that others would not be led to believe.
But then a tear,
A small and just single tear,
Lazed from his eye
Leaving a trail that one might expect from a dove with no concrete destination.
A hush fell over the men.
All merry making ceased.
All stared in wild-eyed awe towards the regal, icy mountain ranges on the horizon.
Lush, full meadows blanketed the grounds along the mainland.
Whatever paths we had followed to this point were routes well cut.
The sadness,
Sorrow,
Joy,
And loss,
All things fell by the wayside.
Some men prayed,
Others began singing.
Regardless of religious preference,
Each man joined in,
Not so much singing as it were wailing and graciously weeping Amazing Grace
As Franklin led the choir.

God is a mountain in the farthest north of the Americas
And Heaven lay in his valley.

Where the cars are packed so frightfully close,
And billows of smoke do crowd and encroach.
There my love went to sow wild oats,
And that is just fine with me.

Where the troublesome buildings grow tall and wide
And the businessmen march in single lines.
To where my love left my heart and mind,
And that is just fine with me.

Upon my hill I fiddle and sway
And watch from afar the toil and strain.
For now my love is miles away
And that is just fine with me.

Love is not a lightning storm,
But a delicate, brittle flower on the crest of a far away mount.
It must have it's moments in the free sunlight
And also in the shadow of the understanding and low hanging cloud.
From time to time it must be whispered to
About it's once and future beauty
And about how a lonesome drought can be a blessing.
But most of all
It must know that when it's first petal falls,
Will that moment fail to show an abscence of my eternal love.
And all I ask is that you let your rain run down from that mountain
And upon me.
So that I might feel your pain,
Delight in your delights,
And suffer in your sorrows.
Because I am the mountain on which you grow.
And I am the wind that will never blow cold.

For as much as I have tried to survive the wilderness,
It has also tried to survive me.
Because I have trampled over the oceans and forests,
I have lost the privilege of the tree.
No air is there left to fill my lungs,
I now breathe in only nightmares.
No longer are there fish in the stream for my belly.
I simply eat whatever I dare.
I have robbed the woods of their sweet pine smell,
Replaced with only the scent of death.
Our children grow weak and sickly these days;
Their laughter is happiness bereft.
My ancestry was paid no mind,
I simply carried on with my plight.
To Christianize this land,
To bind the wild man,
I was blind to God's true light.