TO WAKE FROM DEAD DREAMS
from this short sighted,
self serving day dream that stunts humanity.
Greedy ones take the coal, blacken the soil,
oiling the wheels with whiskey blood and tears.
On the short grass the sheep still graze.
Larger game have left this place.
Even coyote bides his time,
always measuring his distance from the gun.
Yet there are some who measure distance from inside
They read between lines
of layers left behind.
They know this world spins from energy of the sun
and by its own momentum turns
folding everything within
swallowing the past.
Through layers of time both dead and alive they walk the ancient canyon.
Down an old worn path where steep walls keep old secrets in the still and deep.
Whispers on the wind call--
To rest beneath the canyon tall and gaze upon ancient tones
that morning's mystery brings with light.
Its chiseled wisdom worn.
Yes, in the wind they listen for the ghost of a moment that calls out!
Unfold the mystery that surrounds.
Find the thread that runs
through everyone and everything
And from everywhere a voice will speak
to all the children whom hope holds fast
To let go is to understand and
roll the rock from off the path.