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in the heart of the wood |
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in the closed forest |
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christ appeared to me |
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in several forms |
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one two three four |
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swastika i'm told |
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on the cliffs of mother |
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i walked with mary |
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behind the eyes of his innocence or guile |
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the young old man talks of the brittle walls |
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that held his son pinionned pinionned pinionned |
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mary walks on the cliffs but not on waters |
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then christ appeared as wind |
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mary runs down from the high walls |
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christ appears as flowers |
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down long path she walks |
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christ appears as the rubble |
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that holds the stones |
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that holds the paths |
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that holds the feet to the bones of the earth |
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oh if she waits |
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if she waits |
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if she waits |
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if she waits |
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if she waits |
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christ manifests slowly |
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as the dust on her eyes |
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before she falls again into fields of sleep |
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i would like this anger to dissolve |
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and i wait for another |
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revolution or revelation |
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it doesn't too much matter |
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when i see blood in wheals |
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all shall be well she said |
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but not to me |
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not to me |
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the skeleton of the universe |
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barbed wire of blues and stars |
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remains unmoved |
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when the mother ocean covers me |
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i rush to drown with her breakers |
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all shall be well she said |
|
she said all shall be well |
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but not for me |
|
but not for me |
