The sky turns red, blue and yellow,
I take in the beautiful horizon.
Feeling a bit lost and mellow,
Here in the village I am from.
The black contour of the church,
Contrasts sharply with the colourful sky.
On the edge where darkness emerges,
Where clouds become invisible and just fly.
......
I travel through
mile after mile of darkness.
The headlights bore a hole in the Night
that is stretched
so tight across this wide land
......
I am weary.
My hands ache from the frigid touch of the winter winds, and my boots have worn thin from my unwanted travels.
I did not choose to set out on this path.
Nor do I, in any significant way, choose to continue it.
It is a strange beast, this path, unknowable and yet so awfully, awfully known.
I remember every jagged rock, every ditch in the drought-ravaged soil.
And when I tell myself that I know this path, it shows me that I do not.
My pack is heavy.
......
Building a house in a foreign land has an odd sway
Common fears are again in charge of finding a space
Frequent visits of tears usually try to lead the way
And invasive thoughts dislocate reality from it's place
Time struggles to find it's own dominium
Late nights and deep dreams start a delirium
I suddenly wake up and find equilibrium
Just to find a pattern that is written with my past idioms
......
Building a house in a foreign land has an odd sway
Common fears are again in charge of finding a space
Frequent visits of tears usually try to lead the way
And invasive thoughts dislocate reality from it's place
Time struggles to find it's own dominium
Late nights and deep dreams start a delirium
I suddenly wake up and find equilibrium
Just to find a pattern that is written with my past idioms
......
I am weary.
My hands ache from the frigid touch of the winter winds, and my boots have worn thin from my unwanted travels.
I did not choose to set out on this path.
Nor do I, in any significant way, choose to continue it.
It is a strange beast, this path, unknowable and yet so awfully, awfully known.
I remember every jagged rock, every ditch in the drought-ravaged soil.
And when I tell myself that I know this path, it shows me that I do not.
My pack is heavy.
......
The sky turns red, blue and yellow,
I take in the beautiful horizon.
Feeling a bit lost and mellow,
Here in the village I am from.
The black contour of the church,
Contrasts sharply with the colourful sky.
On the edge where darkness emerges,
Where clouds become invisible and just fly.
......
I travel through
mile after mile of darkness.
The headlights bore a hole in the Night
that is stretched
so tight across this wide land
......