beyond this world of make-believe -
far above this world of sorrow -
where the hearts of grown men grieve
blind to see the hope of morrow

in green plains, in the meadow
where the rivers four do meet
where the sun shines, source of shadow,
drenching yellow fields of wheat

there i met my true beloved
saw him with the eyes that see
saw him bless a world corroded
bless a race that's lost at sea

and there i stumbled 'pon the sighing
'pon the tears that bitter be
salty tears of his crying
flowing to a deep blue sea

there they mingled and embraced
with the tears of the dying,
the faults of man, of souls debased,
souls of men that lost hope trying.

kissed those tears that bitter be,
became as one in bluest sea,
carried those souls in his embrace,
carried those souls to highest place

to the palace of Messiah
soared distillate of pariah
turned from darker than the night
sweetened to the brightest light

as the essence of omnipresent
turned the bitterness evanescent
turned the bitterness opalescent
the shine of sun in moon-like crescent

i saw him once at age of four
he bade me wine to drink galore
and then again at five years old
to scribe my name in figures bold
black upon the outside bench
got spanked for that 'n left a stench
then if my memory serves me right
at age of nine on eraser white
uncomplimentary homage to my teacher
to write he bade whereupon appeacher
swift to headmaster sent me in fury
but too afraid of one-man jury
he bade me fabricate pathetic tale
of his absence when i went to jail

lies and deceit [seemed to] have coloured my years
for now in sweetest memory appears
marking of my own homework
in red paint while I duties shirk.
thus, in twilight as old i grow
i'm frightened of my grey shadow
the falsehood has become my own
part of flesh and part of bone
can i correct this wayward soul
and fly towards the divine goal?
methinks must use mercurial self
warts 'n all, angel and elf,
in ad hoc program to do good deed
and so transform this wayward steed

and comfort take in this small truth
that memory is a no-good sleuth
takes delight in remembering bad
but scarce commemorates good times had
so yes, sweet devil, you've been here,
i've done your bidding since toddler year
but higher angel i've followed you too
galumphing on in ways few knew
G-d alone will weigh the scales
for He sees the whole with all details

the voice He whispers in words unsaid
in the breeze 'pon barley heads
in the air amongst the leaves
there the One, His spirit weaves

in the water, in the forest,
in the glistening fur of fawn,
the shades of green as window florist
in the stillness of the dawn

'speak to me', i hear him whisper
in the voice of unsaid words
in the spirit of the Drifter
'midst the song of singing birds

hidden from all, as riverbed
far beneath the murky water,
where the shy young otters tread,
there He hugs His only daughter

there He whispers words unsaid
as we drift away from shore
hearts abeat as newly wed
as He lets my spirit soar