Saturday, July 16, 2011

What is that that calms me down?
It's my own two feet, you see.
Why should I not make a sound?
You're not good enough for me.
My schedules and my plannings
are the way I run my head.
But the world around me turns, somehow,
while I put butter on my bread.
The rhymes begin to calm me;
the clouds begin to part.
There's still this awful yearning
that's tugging from my heart.
But still I walk on down the road
not knowing where it leads
Without a sense of final prize,
just peace amongst the breeze.
And if I dream while I'm awake
Then hold me in the door.
I'll tell myself the truth, you see,
For I am no false hope.
The honesty that longing brings
is quite enough to cope.
Someday will happen.
Someday will come.
Just like the day of morrow--
The trees truly are beautiful
and breathe away my sorrow.
So in conclusion, walking
is instant therapy.
Money isn't heaven
and heaven is a tree.

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