2017 02 19
I follow the road to the river shore
to escape the city of greed and noise
and watch the water that flows without care
down the mountains to the shimmering sea.
I hear the voices of people cry out
but the wind carries their words of desires
to hide among dead trees in the waste land
but I carve their dreams on the mountain cliff.
I pluck ripe fruit preserving the sunlight
that grows on the tree of wisdom and love
then walk alone on the trail with no signs
while people riot in the city square.
I see the face of the man who plays king
beaming on the cracked television screen
after he broke a thousand angel wings
and stamps new coins in the money machine.
I feel the whirling hurricane of war
building to a frenzy for twenty years
descend from the mountain of singing stones
to destroy the palace where kings play god.
I feel hard rain falling to soak my eyes
when the voice of truth blowing in the wind
proclaims new name for the nation of fools
which enslaves all minds with new set of rules.
The woman in white, whom only I can see,
commissions I return with book of truth
to preach her vision in the city square
but I tend my garden by the bright stream.