In your eyes...
An old man, young man, story of a child
A memory, a mystery, and a dream that may be.
On a path, on the road, climbing on a tree.
Weathered, wanting, reaching to be free
Oh how I wish my eyes were open
to all that yours can see.
Won't You send a spark, send a flame, send me fire
Burning through, breaking through the shadow and the mire
Raising up, rising up 'til filthy rags, made new
and I have disappeared, deep inside... the refining fire....of You
Not like mine; holding onto smoke
Looking at the past, praying for that day
Unfolding like a letter, wondering what to say
Stumbling in fetters; my feet made of clay
But yours, from the heavens to the sidewalk
* Emily's feathers in the fray
Your heart...
A shield from darkness; shelter from the cold
Even then, even when, all the walls are shaking
Holds it all, holding mine even while it's breaking
Not alone... in the dark, forgotten son forsaken...but
A fortress, and a tower, the place I run
to life, still in the making
Won't You send a spark, send a flame, send me fire
Burning through, breaking through the shadow and the mire
Raising up, rising up 'til filthy rags, made new
and I have disappeared, deep inside... the refining fire....of You
* "Hope is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tunes without the words -
And never stops - at all." - Emily Dickinson
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