NARROW WINDING ROADS
The beating drums of my heart pound slow,
then fast, then slow
As I wander the barren landscape of your soul
still unsure of which way to go
Travelling always forward,
circling the desolate paths of our infinity
The cup of our existence begins to spill over
with the smells of the old and of the new to me
I am hearing the voice of my blackbird sing
once again calming the tortured seas of my youth
She begins calling, calling me out at once
to pave these narrow winding roads of truth
With a crushing blow to my very being
forcing all of me once again to my knees
Calling out, begging, pleading
to just let the ever dreaming minds eye see
Waiting, trembling, searching, seeking,
desiring that light and flame to come near
Drawing ever closer, pushing days out over
the edge of the pages of our calendar years
Suppressed in that old sweet song of bondage
wondering if it is me that put us here
Dying slowly from the inside out, from freedoms
unknown, and drowning from the suns tears.
David L. Bowman
3-19-09
The beating drums of my heart pound slow,
then fast, then slow
As I wander the barren landscape of your soul
still unsure of which way to go
Travelling always forward,
circling the desolate paths of our infinity
The cup of our existence begins to spill over
with the smells of the old and of the new to me
I am hearing the voice of my blackbird sing
once again calming the tortured seas of my youth
She begins calling, calling me out at once
to pave these narrow winding roads of truth
With a crushing blow to my very being
forcing all of me once again to my knees
Calling out, begging, pleading
to just let the ever dreaming minds eye see
Waiting, trembling, searching, seeking,
desiring that light and flame to come near
Drawing ever closer, pushing days out over
the edge of the pages of our calendar years
Suppressed in that old sweet song of bondage
wondering if it is me that put us here
Dying slowly from the inside out, from freedoms
unknown, and drowning from the suns tears.
David L. Bowman
3-19-09
