TOO MISTY IS THE GLASS

Sometimes they sit and weep
Sometimes they just sleep
Other times they see forever
And on occasion their mind never
Believes
 
Watch the river slide by
With an image of the world in your eye
Hoping for the day to come
When the image is like the river that runs
 
There is a secret that is not told
Only the ones able to see will hold
Open the door and walk right through
Once they’re in it’s a world that’s new
 
Some may not dare come
Some may never have begun
A sight uncared for, yet so pure
So distracted by a self, so unsure
 
Teeth pile high in the chasmal sacrifice
The logic rituals seem bitter and precise
The image of the world glooms like warm dead mocking birds
Her hair flutters like a giant pool in her mind of tongue-tied words
 
Here we are so filthy, so blind, so scared
Here we are so full, so strong, so feared
 
Once long ago we used the earth
Now here, our time we abuse the earth
Share the secret would not wake them
Too misty is the glass  Too soft is our well-being
Once our skin was like leather and our muscles
Were recognizable.  Now we’re a herd of
unconscious devourers driving on the
black fields of vast merchandise
Like this pen and paper and the music
on the radio
Where is the wilderness madness
Our sadness Our power
Our rambling blues and the hues
In our secret world
Our vision blurred  Our minds
Obscured with words
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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