Our way has driven stones from river beds
and shaken boulders from their mounts.
Bound in each our forces shake the mud
And scare the trees whose leaves tremble
Together mocking we stare at suns and say
We are all, whilst taking baby racoons from nests.
This wasted look is painted well in films and art and print
And barely scraping through is just a look of kindness
Finding home in sympathy for the begrudged and limp and homeless
Inside a fire is stirring, whirling deep in caverns unexplored
Listening, waiting, yearning for a call to free the word
But never whilst in groups of men - it's often shouted down
Quiet please I cannot speak but action shut's it's mouth
And soon enough the moments gone and wildness gets it's grip
But wending sure and steady up its gaining on it's trip
And proud men laugh and gloat and sing and cheer for all their worth
The noise is loud but equal not to him beneath the hearth.
A vow, a pledge a wasted swipe and back again it turns.
And so it goes through eons till unto itself returns.
