PROMISED LAND

 

 

 

How strange it is to meet your wish

To shake the hand of all your needs ―

      the seemly peak of all your dreams

How strange it is to watch you cry

To see the tear and drear and dire lie

Inside your eye

The loss and lack, the subtle crack within your voice

How strange it is

To witness grief in boundless choice

 

Like birds we fly, like fish we swim

Life is more than one straight limb

You with your cold shaken hand, has taught me fact from which I stand

The air, like fear, holds us bound by nothing true

Be rich, Be poor

Be a man made of so much more

Be braving, Be craving

Be hungry now and evermore

 

How strange it is

To be of age

To chance upon this buried page

To hold the key that twists and clicks my complex cage

How strange it is to understand

The true and told and timely sand

Of this, my so called promised land

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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