He knew that path, The way to take, But couldn't convince himself, To walk that way. Looking around, And wasting time, Hoping someone might, Force him down, The path he knew, He must take.
As I wandered, lost in the raging tempest. Amid the swirling sea, not knowing were to go or how to do it less, obviously.
But I had not long to fear for soon came a gentle breeze amid the swirling storm. It did not push or pull but only hinted at the end of the storm.
Though I hesitated at first not sure what to do I soon found it wise to let the breeze guide me. It did not make things easer it only showed me the way as if maybe it know what I was going through or maybe it was only fulfilling it’s purpose, but it lead me through and now I can see the clear horizon.
But now I here you want to take the breeze away controlling the weather in some mysterious way.
Do you have the right, can you hear the song echoing do you know were it comes from?
I do as I have seen the light so I will tell you.
It comes from the moaning voices of the living dead rising from the grave; they did not make it through the storm so this is there fate!
It comes from the last sour note uttered by the snakes and lizards played by a band, of dead and moaning voice singing of sadness and dread.
It comes from those who through some fluke of nature can only express theme selves in a picture. Or from those who can only express theme selves on a field.
Or perhaps you are the source of the sound never escaping the storm trapped forever.
But let me tell you why you are wrong. You cannot control the wind you think you can but in the end you only suppress it and do you know what that does to a storm? I’ll tell it makes it bigger and soon to lash out with infinity scorn.
It will destroy you, and you will see in the end an all-consuming storm with fire and lightning breathing dragon’s overhead!
And then the storm will clear and all will see the white and blue horizon and you will know why you were wrong, obviously.
It always seems like the world is falling apart,
The seams of our society always just an inch from unraveling,
But it never seems to.
Is it just an illusion created by our own fear?
It always seems like the higher our heroes climb the harder they fall,
Some of us fear to climb to high out of fear of falling,
Others climb to high out of fear of being stuck to the ground.
But why must our heroes always fall?
It always seems like the worst of humanity is on display,
That our own darkness is reflected in our media,
But where is our light?
Is it relegated to pointless quotes printed on the pages of our calendars?
Must we live with the knowledge that our only hope is in obscurity?
That the shadows of our society hold our brightest light,
And the most open fields hold the darkest shadows cast by our apparently black sun.
Must we hold onto hope as our last hope and our only hope for our world?
Is the only light in our sky a single star?
Today I ask you what gives you hope,
Let the light hidden in our shadows come out,
Let the shadows hidden out in the open be put to sleep.
A hastily scribbled message,
When in the course of the day,
A fear overtakes me,
A fear I know well.
So I grab my pen,
And scribble a note on my hand,
I assure myself,
Will be clear when I look back.
Then at the end of the long day,
I return at last to my home,
Sit down in my chair,
And breath freely at last.
Then I look down at my hand,
For no reason that I can say,
And see my hastily scrawled note,
It’s meaning escapes me.
What was I thinking,
When I wrote this down,
Lost to time,
Lost to space.
I thought for sure I would know,
Even at my lowest,
I am me,
And I know me.
But there it sits,
A code without a cypher,
A person without a place.