First be lost
And know that you are
Know nothing at all
Except what is wrong
Strip down to the bone
Let delusions be dead
With vanities and falsehoods
Flung to the floor.
Be a blank canvas,
Innocence restored.
A clean page
refreshed and renewed
after troubles, by age
With vigilant care
be sure where you tread
A clear path runs
Directly ahead
You have to be no-one
To see who you are
A storm was above and the wind was intense,
Rattling resistant windows,
It battered against the glass,
Salt patina crazed, obscuring the view.
The sea wall boomed, a dark drum.
The rocks, veiled by mussel shell
Opening wide to the tide,
Lay hidden beneath the wild surface
Of broiling and tumbling water
Turned in a pool of cross currents
The fog horn sang out
Above the deep throated echo of sirens
Who lure sailing men to their sea graves.
The tides of the turn leave us debris,
Strange treasures with rope and mast beams,
Blue glass rolled smooth by long tides,
Smashed shells and well polished pebbles.
Fragments of cuttlefish bone.
After the storm we gather them home
To make decorative frames for our mirrors
All our mirrors face out to the ocean.
Wind chimes of shells hang in the light.
Cuttlefish carved into faces unknown
Hang from blue string on our walls.
The storm did no damage at all.
Boost my immune system baby.
I have a fever, right to the bone.
My condition is getting worse.
I can’t do this alone,
it just wont work the same.
The solution is quite plain.
Give me that tender touch,
the one that does so much.
The doctor says its wise.
No pill can take your place.
Boost my immune system baby,
make my molecules sing.
That’s the only thing
that guarantees good health.
from high above looking down on the land
there are signs of all that is gone
churches sit on old sacred sites
scattered across the earth
the motorway swallowed the village pond
the sea eats away at the shore
the old forests all gone to ships
gone to ashes and war
i see the ramparts of Rome
Legions lost in the earth
Saxon barrows and Norman walls
Celtic graves, the breaking of stones,
gone, in a battle for power
all for nothing
the land and the word lives on
the rhyme, the history, the song
deeper than dust
deeper than bone
finer, truer, strong
The Dreaming Path 