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