Time wears away at me, like water on a stone, oh, so slowly, but inevitably, drop by drop,
That blue-gray rainy day, the blue-gray funeral parlor. There you were laid out in blue and gray. So still.
For those who only know oasis it must be difficult to fathom another way of life beyond the wal… amidst the shifting dunes. Those that follow gypsy trails
I come to the village well today, though without a need to drink. My worldly thirst now quenched, with home and hearth supplied. I am here to fill a deeper vessel
The old man, who thinks he’s dying, approached me with these words. I am sorry
It seems the only way to reach the mountain-top, is through the desert wasteland. It is only there that one might come to learn
Your end? My end? Where the hell’s the middle? You say this. I say that.
“Don’t say anything!” spoke the shadow in the doorway. I was seven years of age. I lay limp upon the couch, still recovering from
These words I cry do not come easily; as if they echo from the cold stone depths of a long forgotten tomb.
trust the one who seeks the truth doubt the one who says he’s found…
I stole myself away from thee and me, for love of sweet Mary Jane.
I am crying now. I don’t know why. Am I supposed to know why it is I cry ? Though I always feel
Your unexpected words of kindness fell upon this desert dweller’s arid heart
Ideas and notions, they’re all for the dreamers, worth as much or less than one's considered opinion. You can’t even wrap fish in them.
Listen. There it is. The hum of perfect silence at the centre of all that is, and isn’t.
