Broken Winged

(Somewhere in the Country, 2009)

Take a walk, fall apart and start it all up again.

From arrow tips and to deadly ends,

Poison darts to rough starts.

False beginnings and unpaved roads.

Unsettled waves and underground flows.

All of the above and a few who knows,

Counter balance who you were (for who you be),

For the future of prophecies and the most personal of legacies.

Like cookie crumble,

Jumble to be bumble, and ramble of the old ways.

For future days, rest for peace,

At least it ain't done.

Until winding suns, crossed-fades, and hey-days of hades.

A life time of maybes, the or to the yes and the no,

To be an outsider and to be in-the-know.

In-between the forest and the machine,

The manchete in the hand,

A strike for a stand,

To fall again,

True value is in getting back up.

Step up, broken heel to a limp,

Blood moist, damp, then vent.

Now saying what,

Now saying this.

Twenty-four years is this,

Too many years of that.

It's more than matter,

And it's more than a fact.

Each step, each break,

It takes more, and with each a shade, a split of core.

It gets harder, harsh, and tarnished.

Prism of shattered light vanish.

Into the thin and thinning,

Losing, taking, breaking, and fading.

Apart from this,

And apart from that.

Each a stroke, a failure, a joke, and a chance of fat.

Of mine, of yours, separate, equal, divided as we fall.

Knockle and skull,

For all and all.

Like a stranger and a friend,

We do this over (again and again).

Fragmented this, of bliss, of creation.

Phased out and phasing,

A peak in it's raising.

Soar like eagle,

Taunt like metal.

How I wonder how it all...

Now saying what,

Now saying this.

Twenty-four years is this,

Too many years of that.

It's more than matter,

And it's more than a fact.