I have walked through the wilderness with no wings
yet the stars keep twinkling sometimes,
I am scourged by the cold starlit heaven the pain dreary and my sore heart weary
this soul speaks of a storm with an axe deep into its roots
and the pain is like a salty stream running through a wounded heart yet,
the fair moon's soft splendor voice laughs and scorns and rises into starlit heaven
I heard a voice say, no leaf will be shaken yet,
dews like a melody scatter
and these tears are only the telescope with which I see into heaven
maybe someday, somewhere my songs
and feeling will greet the moon that day
there'll be banqueting in the sky and in every dark night of the soul
lost to searing shooting pain sounds of joy will echo,
pushing away wet clogging leaves of long dead tulips
somewhere, clouds will tumble tempting to scoop some earth
to kiss lips of the potted primrose but the forecast will be frost
for them they will pull on a winter coat in spring
and yesterday will come back like a sore throat
even the chill would be felt through woolen sleeves
there, it will come to light it seems their prophets misinterpreted the season.
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