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I was just listening to Pricilla Shirir from Hillsong. What a beautiful voice for hope and Faith.God Bless the words that pour out of you. One house built upon a hill(and no agonizing headaches this morning. One Home, by the wheel and the mills wove of living mortar stone where no one walks alone back from cites rediscovered by new frontier. You are the hours that each night lays at morning's door. Weave me boots to walk with you through the gathered clay there-to that molded you and I. I will innocent remain as you until the day so far away we die. I was walking a few're three days ago through the rolling green-lawned and near-toward neighborhoods, as might an apartment-dwelling Portrait to wallpeg setter walk, with lantern lit low, under a sky both night and day hearthstoned, potbelly stoved, and thick with unshelved books, among which some of his own were scored and numbered. I was everyman and I was one. Terror was burning a sword to the wheel myriad miles away, and a whole country was asking the world for to be delivered from tyranny into safe passage where the first is last as the last is first among, apart, alone and with all humanity unified to the cosmos and wheel became circle become three chords of flame in the forge lifted as a tray of bread and Wine toward Heaven's inhaling ear.Ships were walking to 'n fro the hearbeat's pulse within us all and I awoke in a bedchamber filled with the light of morning, surprised to no longer know intense suffering. My Mother was the sky, Earth, wind and flame's mingled water looking, at my peacefully writing self at a table by the watered edge Oceania, Valleys of rolling water junxtaposing augment and chemistry into a shawl to wrap your shoulders round, all unified and singular woman and man. Philosophers, Poets, Spiritualists seeking the selfless Rose knocking upon Freedom as mercy's door, knew a Love for one another much too profound to put into versed word. The Trees of deep rooted Pine wept for the poluted ocean and sky lighting, with her aching hand, a candle to out of doors Chaplet filled with song, dance and joys measuring the depths and heights. He'd cured ten Lepers, although only one returned to Thank him. We are the one and we are the nine, as we, rising from Mathew's veined and vestige clothe table, followed our Creators footsteps across 2,000 years in the blink of the tearful twilit eye. I am all men and women. I knock upon my own door and invite myself in to ease the morning hungers. Hunger is archtypal enwombed in every other conceived definition. And remember, what and all is you, is also me. You and I see one another through each other's eyes asking his own answer to Love, without condition, the ones who are tormented in the oceanside caves, looking upon day and seeing only night. Those who know not that they themselves are strapped down before put the needle in their vein while Jesus sits with the same man, now talking with a calm and clear train of thought below the listening wheels and wings Gracing to Table Martha and Mary who teach us through our own reciprical words. Listening sees and hears the blazing drums of Faith approaching each next light of the first and last morning any and all will ever know the gatekeeping Hymnals therewithin unfolding wing. The mornings are briefly quiet before being filled to brimming over with the intricate song of life. The Herald with his Horn and reed is seeding to Harvest with his five versed song a quiet rose unthorned by early spring streets. The streets are alive and thriving with the voices of laughing Children and their much-loved and Loving Mothers. War's end is in the words of verse you pen worries put aside is with you Dignified into selfless Pride in Your Creator and waters wide take both you and her to and fro the wide, wide ways've melted snow. Did ya hear the Coyotes as they circled around The Castle by the water near Dublin town They came up from the pits where shades dark mixed know nothing of kindness, don't know it exists. I Praying ta Jesus for the noon to pass I can't find new lips; I don't pay any tax. I Pray to my Father with hearthstone thread said the full moon crater to the dogs just fed May The Good Lord Guide me nearer true Wisdom's door every word my Elder's ever said is Freedom and Law I can't sleep in both shoes anymore to put it in oils of painted metaphor. I heard an Angel weep as hammers pounded my brain weep for the Soldiers every battle has slain I seen the Holy Ghost shining in Medragory's sky My Mother has a heart of Gold that refuses to die My Memere and Pepere wear old road clothes they both live by the water, Grandma's Saint Patrick all three hearts Gold I used to pay your way with Piney wood Mangers knew truth to sometimes be the ending of danger Ya can't weave clay with thread and needle everybody now know the way I feel. I can't sleep in both shoes anymore to put in oils of painted metaphor
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