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| 17th Century Map of the World |
Map Maker
March 2009
East of Eden,
The Garden of Weedinโ,
Planting my seeds of deeds undone,
By everyone,
I ever knew,
Except for you.
Except for you,
Who let the roses grow,
Who had no fear of snow,
You,
The cold meant nothing to.
And in the moonlight
On a warm night
Though I couldnโt see clear,
I watched you disappear,
Around the corner
Into nowhere,
Again.
East of Angels,
West of Heaven
On the wings of a firebird,
Away into the red sky,
Standing there,
A haven?
Looking for a Raven?
I donโt know why or who,
Or which bits were true,
Only that this Phoenix flew,
And it does not matter now, or how,
Nor does the chatter of flattery.
I may never understand,
North of Neverland,
But bats in the Belfry
Would think less of me,
And I would too,
If I didnโt do,
The right thing
By the spring
Of the babbling brook
Of that which I took
And life came through me to.
Shades of Nice and Easy,
Make me queasy,
Long and difficult
Was the result.
South of Nowhere,
The outer stratosphere
Where zombies
Compare hair and recipes,
In the deep freeze of suburbia,
I found my salvation,
In my own rhymes,
In my own time,
X-marks the spot,
This is everything Iโve got.
Buried treasure
Resurrected,
My heart out of the well,
Broken with the spell,
Glued together with gossamer,
Leaking dreams of you
that never were.
Traveling on to be
Here now,
And contemplate a vow,
Made in secret to myself,
Not by hook or by crook
Or circle jerks in a quirk,
Still, love finds a way to work,
Forgive and understand,
This isnโt what I planned,
Water gets in everywhere,
And no, it isnโt fair,
But maybe sweeter then by far,
Everywhere we are,
For having known we knew,
Another soul as true,
Remembering steadfast
The Garden Outcasts,
Outlast
And grow stronger evermore,
Than any roses grew before.
From, Gold Mine
