If I can just find
That pocket in your eyes
Where I can rest.
Oh memory,
How beautiful is the smile
Of time’s innocence?

Oh to hold that hand
That nurtured generations…
How does one return
The miracle of life?

When a prayer is burning
With the fires of memory,
My soul is lost
On the milky banks
Of afterlife’s river.

My hands are searching in the virgin mountain
Of our being.
Yet I breath,
A wind that has
Already forgotten,
And yet I breath
In a world that
Will not remember.

For what is left…

You will never be blinded, for you see through the eyes of my faith.
You will never feel lost, for you walk through the gardens of my wonder.
You will never know cold, for you wear the garments of my soul.
You will never meet thirst, for you have the pools within my eyes.
You will never lose breath, for you are carried in the winds of my spirit.
You will never speak with pain, for you live within the temple of my prayer.
You will never aqcuaint hunger, for you dine on the essence of my dreams.

And you will never be alone… if you can settle for what is left.




Your hands of many prayers past,
Fall with a heaviness in my chest…
It is what keeps me when to fall
Seems most human of it all.

When you visit this laden sill
Carved within me, and without me still,
To curl the curtains upon your finger
And there be a willful singer…

I hope to tell you “I needn’t know
From where you came or even how.”
For lighter is that threshold when
That is the chance you are given.

It is enough that you may
Have your good and have your say
To the man that cant demand it
And whose to say… understand it.