The Master slept; disciples saw the coming storm,
Threw a blanket on their Lord to keep him warm.
Clouds congealed, grays grew dark;
Lightning moved in flashing arcs.

More than a squall, the winds carved trenches
In writhing waters grown black beneath,
Tipped with frothing benches.

Grown weary of the crowds, body spent with care for others,
Still He slept the rest of an exhausted man,
Unaware the growing fear of brothers.

"Wake up! Do you not care if we all drown?"
Was it Peter who shook Him there,
Amazed he slept so sound?

He sat up from sleep, looked at the water,
Felt the wind, turned to the water,
Scolded, "Peace! Be still!"

The winds dropped; so did the waves;
The boat bobbed gently in the calm.
The men, awed, stood on the silent boards,
Marveling at the Lord.

We live upon on a tossing sea,
Torn by hate and fear in a storm of strife,
And no one has an answer we can see.
We're sailors fearing the end of life.
When is the time to turn to God,
Whom we forget still cares,
Waits "sleeping in the boat"
Until we're desperate in our prayers?

Assured and calm the summer rose,
along the bold and steamy land;
With burning rays of sunlight's heat,
the sultry nights of love abandoned.

Sweat poured from my face easily,
as I sat on the wrap-around porch;
With a large tumbler of mint iced tea,
refreshing briefly as the night air scorched.

It was then I recalled the sweet sea air,
where I could run down to the shore;
And with a shout I'd dive into waves,
that cooled my fever to the core.

My mind wandered to that very place,
which brought me peaceful hours;
I'd lie on the sandy beach alone,
with no worries or cares to ponder.

But reality has a way of catching up,
to imagined dreams of heavenly tides;
Taking one last sip of the now warmed tea,
the restless night brought me inside.

And there my lonely bed lay in wait,
no one around to soothe my brow;
The heat brought on a sobering sleep,
escaping visions from the here and now.

Piano and violins
in the hands of artists
string me along
in a peaceful stream of joy
their delicate threads
wrapped around my heart
on a gray morning
to quince my loneliness.

He's standing outside
my door
He's got guns in one hand
In the other roses
and he's knocking ,
knocking and knocking
and I am wondering what for

If I turn up the volume
will he go away ?

Knock knock knocking some more

Oh well !
Maybe if I give him an
axl or a rose
he will go away