A piece I just wrote about what I guess can be characterized as the journey of a man. |
He lives beyond that veil, playing the violin Painting one rainbow after another And he wonders a lot, if God exists or not For he himself grew up without a father Around his neck is hanged, a sign without a name Since he is only known as the vagabond And he wanders a lot, if he should stay or not For glory seems to drip of the horizon He begins to pack his bags, fill his pockets, clean his rags Emptying out the home, he had never had Tuning out his violin, make it point from out to in So he'll never forget, where his heart is And then he ran on off, bringing with him all he owned So that he, like Noah, could outgrow sin Then the olive carried doves, made him think of all he loves But his thoughts came out surprisingly empty He then found emptiness on the outside, as well as inside Beating drums that would inspire him Playing like clockwork in the background, circling around the poet within that called for him He started writing, enveloping and then soaking his own heart, for it wept within The ground beneath him he was to plow, because he knew how the world had started those years ago! He saw that he could start again! Bringing a world without a sin He just had to shovel far Far enough to start a war Between the loving and the hate Meeting God outside that gate Where he could finally find his peace Disbanding man, and then was gone To find himself there, all alone! |