The Becoming
Who doesn’t dream of escape?
A return to an innocent state
A journey on the beams of grace —
The Lord is with thee
Who doesn’t yearn for what’s pure?
A chance to un-open that door
They preach to us, Less is more
And enslaved is free
See the infant angels descending
Hear the primal drums drumming
Like Henderson and his lions —
On the verge of becoming
Who doesn’t pine for the good days?
To be illumined by the light’s rays
And retreat from the swirls of malaise
Toward a joyous shore
Who doesn’t hold onto something,
Amid the wringing and running?
Maybe the name of becoming
Is one we’ve uttered before
See the holy harps descending
Hear the primal drums drumming
Like Siddharrtha and his lotus —
On the verge of becoming
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