My Short Stories

Crumbs of Love.


Home | "Interior Communications with God." | ESSAYS. | COFFEE CLUB | Thought for the day. | ancient australia-2

We enter in a world of woe

Some say we don't know where to go

I say this, my matador with a guitar

Play on, for the world still turns

Play on and perhaps from the mist

A new light echoes off our hearts

A light long sought but safe at last

We'll gather up the crumbs

laid down from our past

Crumbs we loved but shed so poorly

Crumbs of messages, crumbs of wisdom

crumbs of love now found their mark.

We whisper abroad across the ocean

We message some with our faint hearts

We whisper quiet words of devotion

To still the weakening of the heart

We love and long for liberation

From the twisted scum in the White House

We cross the ocean on our bark

we call to gods who cannot hear us

We long to see His Face in the sky

Silence is the deafening answer

Though we pray on bended knee

We are not accustomed to the slaughter

Of mind and heart and loving thee

We are no wiser now we've come here

This is not our home we see

We sail beyond the blue horizon

We put in ports of melancholy

Around the world the murmurs similar

are for all the world to hear

There is a dying and a thunder

A rumble, a pause, then destiny

Is to side with quiet resignation

To the fate that God has for thee.

This is our aim, our goal, our introduction

To echo from the dying tree

Of liberty

A cry to power from within the soldier

A cry that emanates on the street

No loss of life, no diminishment of soul or mind

Hell to freeze, wailing in far off breeze

Hell to lose to the clouds once more

Oh go far from us you poor lost devils

Or else we cross your boundary

Go far from us till all is broken

And being defeated you disappear

We come across a long lost daughter

Of the halls of Israeli

We know, we know that love has brought her

But we feign our mystery

Come sweet child of heaven's daughter

Come to us in Australie

We will build you up with sweet clear water

We will mend your symphony

Hath your monies ebbed away

Fear not for we are not made of hay

Come sweet child, come to clear blue skies

Come and taste the rasberry tree

Come, oh come!

To Australie