Monday, July 6, 2015

You Know It's Gonna Get Stranger

Fifty Years Down That Road
Transcendence, and The Experience Of Aging, Go Hand In Hand
(One Dog's Observation)
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In the attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams; unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me

I have spent my life
Seeking all that's still unsung
Bent my ear to hear the tune
And closed my eyes to see
When there were no strings to play
You played to me

In the book of love's own dreams
Where all the print is blood
Where all the pages are my days
And all my lights grow old
When I had no wings to fly
You flew to me
You flew to me

In the secret space of dreams
Where I dreaming lay amazed
When the secrets all are told
And the petals all unfold
When there was no dream of mine
You dreamed of me
 
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Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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Just a box of rain,
Wind and water,
Believe it if you need it,
If you don't just pass it on

Sun and shower,
Wind and rain,
In and out the window
Like a moth before a flame

It's just a box of rain
I don't know who put it there
Believe it if you need it
Or leave it if you dare

But it's just a box of rain
Or a ribbon for your hair
Such a long long time to be gone
And a short time to be there
_____________________________________________

And After All This Time

Still, I feel like a stranger; feel like a stranger.  Well you know -- it's gonna get stranger.  So let's get on with the show.
__________________________________________

2 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. I agree. It's a buck dancer's choice my friend, I think; better take someone's advice about knowing all the rules by now and the fire from the ice.

      Not that this knowledge will always protect us; not that it will guarantee to keep us sane; but we have to dance anyway, dance, for reasons I can't explain.

      Delete