The ghosts of mill towns past awake and seek us in our sleep; they tell us work will make you whole, and prayer make you deep I hear them, shouting, from the docks, I see them now, in waves; I see them slumping off to work And to their waiting graves For this is how we spend our lives, our toil, thought, and breath; to make the jeans that people wear to work themselves to death
HERE, in the chapel, I find a peace That I've been missing in my life; For troubles never seem to cease, And every joy comes mixed with strife, But maybe, tomorrow, the sun will rise, And lungs will fill, and eyes will see That days are a promise we get to keep, And I am where I'm meant to be.
We moved from Florida to here, A place of trees and gentle slopes; We set up our establishment, With four found souls and two lost hopes, But still, and decades hence, we're here. This place, the pages of our tome: The story universal, for We must leave home so we can find A home.
pole in hand and eight years old, fishing on a summer lake; tackle box and hook and lure, early morning squint and ache nothing, nothing, everything -- fish pulled out and thrown back in; nothing, nothing, nothing more -- it's as though we'd never been what to learn from silent times, what to say when nothing's gained; pole in hand and eight years old, bored, but somehow, entertained
leaving home is the first step to anywhere
The past can seem enmiring; It's easy to get stuck -- With each mistake recalled, We just get deeper in the muck -- For two years now, we've gone inside, And further than before; But somehow, thinking less might be Achieving something more Yet this I know from cleaning up My dusty mental shelves: We broken know the broken, And love them as Ourselves
SHE was a red-haired Irish girl, who wanted to converse with me; I didn't understand, but then, men never do. WE followed the conversation to a wedding and some pregnancies; but she was left unhappy, and -- then, just left. I WAS the situation from which, she needed to escape: I was emancipation, when she moved on from me, for evermore -- SHE read the signs, and saw her place, a better place, and in the sun; she just needed a hell to escape, and I was the one
Love, insistent on its course, Gathers birds, and clouds, and waves, With its gentle kind of force. This is just how love behaves: Whispered songs across the the sound, Words and music each heart craves. Can it all our fears confound? Yes, it does, and will, when we Look inside, and not around Clearing space, so we can see Sunset gathering of power: How that happens, gradually. Love, that brings to life the hour, Is a constant, flowing, force: Sun and water, helping each soul Flower
