There Stories Are My Song
I play the ether cause only space can contain the songs I see. I was at the beginning ill be at the end ringing the bells to call the children home. I have heard the stories, the ones we tell just to keep us alive. Oh such stories though, passing fascinations. When we get quite we realize they have left us haunted and thirsting. In the brown hues we seek to root in something that can grow, so that maybe we can find some light and some hope. Putting our ears to the sky we wait for water, something deeper that can bring back a joy we lost with our innocence. I have heard the dreams of nature longing to wake us from our delusions into its place of rest. The sparrows song is hard to hear through its tears these days. She sings but very few sing along. I have seen the dirt highways propped up as gold, but do they see the end of there paths will leave us all without a home. Will we seek the true ways, or like ticks will the changing of the season put to silence our stories, because we would not here the humble stories of life's real servants? They have dreams to dream, dreams to live.
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