Song To The Traveling Crowd

Swans and the lazy crows
Of some flowing streams
passing thru, warm and cold
I will be that thawing age
to uncover the truth beneath
Or that twisted smile,
revolving on secret lies,
collecting by my neglected
borders separating on a
graveyard coast,
where sits motionless,
a previous colorful life
Then they shall leave as specks
of blackened bodies to ride
Upon each and
other disembarking lives
I will be that embankment
to hold back commotions of the
coming tide
Or that seemingly generosity
of the Sun,
a light shines and never burns
Yet, beneath a wave of deaths
Once a ray of piercing colors
from the sky
I will be the final smile
Or that guardian overlooking
changing expressions of Men
Where laughter speaks in
languages hidden from the eye.

Copyright © 2002 The Light Island