Still in their bliss unchallenged
mighty feast,
Unending dances shadowed on
the day.
Within their walls, their
daunting formless keep,
Preserved their joy and kept
their doubts at bay.
Faceless legions stood in
readiness to weep,
Just turn a coin, bring order
to the fray;
And everything is soon no
sooner thought than deed,
But no one seemed to question
in anyway.
How keen the storied hunter's
eye prevails upon the land
To seek the unsuspecting and
the weak;
And powerless the fabled sat,
too smug to lift a hand
Toward the foe that threatened
from the deep.
Who cares to dry the cheeks
of those who saddened stand
Adrift upon a sea of futile
speech?
And to fall to fate and make
the 'status plan'
Where was your word, where
did you go?
Where was your helping, where
was your bow? Bow.
Dull is the armour, cold is
the day.
Hard was the journey, dark
was the way. Way.
I heard the word; I couldn't
stay. Oh.
I couldn't stand it another
day, another day,
Another day, another day.
Touched by the timely coming,
Roused from the keeper's sleep,
Release the grip, throw down
the key.
Held now within the knowing,
Rest now within the peace.
Take of the fruit, but guard
the seed.
They had to stay!
Held now within the knowing,
Rest now within the beat.
Take of the fruit, but guard
the seed...
Marco Giunco |
Work | Basket | Music | Words |