Times to Mend

There was a time when thinking was a stranger sneaking out the back door
It was the last thing to interrupt a creative cocktail before I slept There was a time when feeling came as natural as my own core Bathed in clothes, clothed with names, named within a story And there was a time when wed sit around a fire mantra these are the times. Oh, Sweet cradle rocks with a gentle wind Mother hums the good news This sweetest cradle will rock again

When we were younger, the world was smaller than our ideas, dreams, and aspirations
It was the last great escape of our youth clawing a hole into cognitive dissonance There was a night that chased a day in a way that triggered silently alarmed revelations Far, far away in a land made of trumpets gardens and dragonfly intentions The music gave meaning to our lyrical curiosity and invisible years those were the times. Oh, Sweet cradle rocks with a gentle wind Mother hums the good news This sweetest cradle will rock again

And now weve departed on arcs of our own mistakes, sailing from an angry sea light
It was the last thing that made sense when every clown just became silly There was a dance, the dancer and the floor, all following their dreamscapes flight Hurt by the changing seasons and all those who said theyd be here until the end My, my, how I miss thee so my, my, how I love thee still these are the times to mend ~

David Powers www.LucidWindows.com November 4, 2011