"My Song"
PostPosted: Wed Sep 13, 2006 3:19 pm
I'm not exactly sure what this means, well, maybe it's the song of the downtrodden.
Father, this is my tune
sung with my fingers
and my heart
For it to be otherwise
would be too heavy
or is it light
Like the light that comes
from You to Yours
and that thing I feel in me
That conflagration
that passion that burns
without consuming
It once burned bright
and I marveled at its heat
and bask in the glory
I believed to be You
And things have come
and shown me the gray
and now I know
And that blaze
it has become an ember
but soft amber
in the chill of the night
is beautiful too
This is my song
this is the flow
of the core of me
Of who I am
of what I will become
and yet am now
Though I cannot see it
with these
inevitably unfocussed eyes
And maybe that’s it
why the fire dimmed
Like a foolish woodsman
I forgot to sharpen my axe
and now it takes twice the strength
Or, has it become so sharp
that it is no longer useful
for chopping, felling great trees
Sometimes I look at its edge
and I shave with it
and I think I really have something
and maybe I can give that thing
to others because
I imagine that’s what it’s for
anyway
But all it is
is a chunk of mental
at the end of a hunk of would
But for all it isn’t
and for all of what it could be
I give it to You
Though that memory of hotter times
still lingers deep within
I know still
That even the smoldering coals
they are still proof
of love and of life
Father, this is my tune
sung with my fingers
and my heart
For it to be otherwise
would be too heavy
or is it light
Like the light that comes
from You to Yours
and that thing I feel in me
That conflagration
that passion that burns
without consuming
It once burned bright
and I marveled at its heat
and bask in the glory
I believed to be You
And things have come
and shown me the gray
and now I know
And that blaze
it has become an ember
but soft amber
in the chill of the night
is beautiful too
This is my song
this is the flow
of the core of me
Of who I am
of what I will become
and yet am now
Though I cannot see it
with these
inevitably unfocussed eyes
And maybe that’s it
why the fire dimmed
Like a foolish woodsman
I forgot to sharpen my axe
and now it takes twice the strength
Or, has it become so sharp
that it is no longer useful
for chopping, felling great trees
Sometimes I look at its edge
and I shave with it
and I think I really have something
and maybe I can give that thing
to others because
I imagine that’s what it’s for
anyway
But all it is
is a chunk of mental
at the end of a hunk of would
But for all it isn’t
and for all of what it could be
I give it to You
Though that memory of hotter times
still lingers deep within
I know still
That even the smoldering coals
they are still proof
of love and of life