The magic it has gone,
the moment has passed,
time stole them both away
left us empty handed
looking old and grey.
Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
The magic it has gone,
the moment has passed,
time stole them both away
left us empty handed
looking old and grey.
‘My most successful
unsuccessful life,’
or should that be,
‘my most unsuccessful
successful life?’
Yes, I think that is what
I’d like to say.
Forging a way in the darkness
on a single beam of light,
tracing the mountain’s razor ridge
capped in a silvery white,
got a dark road still to walk along
before the dawn scatters the night…
Forging a way in the darkness
by a single beam of light,
beside the razor edge of the mountain
capped in a silvery white,
got to keep the miles turning
until the dawn breaks through the night.
Find this life,
search it out
with all the fire
you possess;
sell your possessions,
forsake your own way,
give your whole heart,
for to find this life
is your birthright.
The wind roars,
rattles the iron
on the old roof;
the nails strain
to hold the tin down
while the wooden gate
bangs back and forth
against the post,
sounds a warning
it is about to be
parted from its
rusted hinges.
Don’t you cry
when you see I’ve gone,
I’ll be back again
before too long;
so don’t be despondent,
don’t be cast down,
just remember everything
comes back around.
The cards are on the table,
the money is thrown down,
faces hewn in stone
hide every chance
that here has been taken.
What is this one moment
that speaks among a myriad
of moments?
What is this one moment
That stands apart from the jostle
of the crowd?
One moment captures an eternity;
one moment turns a rusted, iron key.
He walks neither on the left
nor on the right,
for each one lacks
what the other one has;
he travels true
the middle ground,
he holds his eye on high.