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Monday, 23 May 2016

The Journey Westward

And so we wonder lately
is it the speaking and the hearing 
or the reading in the writing
that the wisdom lies
the music and the rhythm
pattern and texture of lane and waterfall 
unencumbered by the need for meaning
water flows where it will
unaware of the needful things
of tree and white flowered bush
growing in its way

The music goes where it will and 
touching in between parts
enlivens the dust clinging to
to the improbable future
we sing 
are sung in everyday operas
unseen wind moves our vane 
tripping over sentiment 
laughing at insecurity
longing for the sea

Little left now to play with
but an easy lassitude
wasted on youth when freely available
generous giver seeks soft grass of summer meadow 
at spring's turn towards heaven
longing leaves behind its pain conquering
time lost in the echoes of fragmented history
expressing freedom in new and unexpected ways
dawn welcomed dreaming solitude
smiles at the future stretching far into the sunset
with rose-golden arms wide open
welcoming the inevitable 
the king is dead
long live the king
upon the eagle's back
soaring now upon the quickness of air
glorying in all its thinness and strength 

We bought the book and read it inside our heads
wondering why the transportation failed us
it was always going to be the same
the concert's after taste 
the glow of warm notes
rolling round the mind
it was never going to be the same
borrowed meaning collapses under pressure
which always leaves us wondering 
caught in the misty fruitful moment
of now of then
perhaps and maybe
and through our grasping fingers 
flow the fragmented lives we thought to live
our gaze is now beyond the sparkling sand of 
yesterday and today
upon a timeless uncharted sea of hope.