Saturday, December 15, 2007

They shall never enter my rest

Oh how i have not made time,
the waters past my shoulders,
my eyes on the flame,
my senses seiged and plagued,
a whimper to muster,
the rebuke i sing to myself:

When a man comes to death
What are his thoughts?
Does he care about his life or what it has meant?
Does he turn a glare in bitterness
That it must come to an end

Does he pour out his heart?
And unto whom?

Damned from the start
This Adam, this Eve
Their fear in their nakedness
Years of their war
Spilt blood in the seed
New man and new form

You my friend
Are still the same
You got nothing to say
Because you know you are wrong
You're decieved to think
You still can't choose
To give what you can't afford to loose

Won't you open your heart?
Won't you open your heart, to me?

Does the Maker step down
To share our last breath?
To give us peace that this earth cannot give
Is a lullaby sung with our head on His breast
As we sleep in our final rest?

Does He pour out His heart?

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