The ocean waters flowing, ever flowing –
The sun-bedraggled shoreline glowing, glowing —
The boatman on his skiff there, slowly trawling,
The sunset, in its way and patience, crawling
The smell of ancient time, proterozoic –
The way all works in parallel, and stoic
Though we may be with how this life is going:
We see the truth when all is glowing
Glowing
The station full, and I was young
And then somebody sped up time:
The years whirled by and now I’m here
Alone and in a desert. I’m
Surprised at how the years have flown
And how the glory I had known
Could be reduced to scrap and rust,
And affluence decay
To dust
Far ago and long away,
You dreamed the life for which you sought;
But dreams will come, sometimes, just as
The dreamer changes colors
The aging sun must surely set,
The seasons change, the shifting stars
Will rise upon a whole new night
And dreams will fade like sunlight does
In patterns strange but surely right
Don’t rue the chance that comes but late
Don’t long to seize the dying day
For all are ripples on the sea
Of far ago
And long
Away
the sea rolls on, indifferent to
our needs, within its rhythm:
and years roll out like waves, except
they take our loved ones
with ’em
I know that it’s supposed to be
a time to tell the hopeful truth,
and share our love with those who are
around. But some don’t care for hope,
and give up truth to win at
Lord-knows-what.
So all the stockings are hung crooked
We have the power and the sight;
and with humility, we might
share hopeful truth with everyone
who breathes. But such is not our way:
we want to win, and decorate
our world with trophies of it.
So all the stockings are hung crooked
So parties pack their many pews
with those who will embrace their views
of what this world should be and
what it is. And truth’s left beggaring,
to wander out into the snow
and go wherever it might go,
to find some lonely artist, priest,
or mom to let it in –
Yes, all the stockings are hung crooked
So many things that once held sway
Don’t matter anymore;
Leviathans of yesterday
Are just the junk next door
The railroads, once so mighty then,
Mere shadows of the past:
As will be all our boastings when
The future’s here
At last
Ribbon by the sea that stretches
Twisting in a coastal line;
Night of stars and headlights speeding
Life and cosmos realign
Into patterns, always patterns,
Ever new and always old;
For our story, yet unfolding
Is the same one often told
Ribbon by the sea that stretches
Twisted up in dark and light,
Carry me back home in safety
Get me home to her
Tonight
