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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