Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Open up the cellar door
There is something down there
That is not well
It is dry and thirsty
The well has run dry
There are roots in the cellar
I guess that is why they call it
A root cellar.
Maybe so but I don't know
I just no what I sea
All the roots go to one big tree
They say we all live there
In that big old tree
Do not know about that either
The tree has a lot of Rot in it
It needs a tree surgeon
To cut out the Rot
Nobody likes rotten trees
Grow your own branches
To leave or not to leave
Twigs are just little branches
Five will get you fifteen
Two heads are better than none
Some heads are here but
There is nothing in them
Air is where it's at
The strange fruit never falls
Far from the tree
The cellar is not the seller
It is a prison of souls
One day the Man will come
He will set us all free
He will let us go home
Home where our hearts are
The time is not now yet
But it is not far away
Just a puff of smoke from a big peace pipe
Time is on the road again
And eternity is just down the road a piece
I'll have a little eternity please
Don't tell me you are all sold out
Don't lie to me
I'm too sensitive for disappointment
I have a need to believe
In things I can't conceive
We can all join in
Make it a sing-a-long
Or maybe just wander away into
And multitudinous places to be
Well, I guess it's neither here nor there
Because we're everywhere all the time
And time is on our side
Is it time to go now?
Are we there yet?
Wake me up when it's over...
© Aug. 29, 2011
Posted by Philip DeLoach at 12:40 PM
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Gliding down a long dark corridor
Many doors on either side
But one large one at the end of the corridor
It seems so very far away
I am moving slow but progressing rapidly
Occasional movements in the corners of my eyes
Make me think that I am not alone
Out one door and in another
I keep drifting closer to the door
I think I know what is on the other side
I am afraid and elated at the same time
It could be Heaven or it could be Hell
It could be just another corridor
Do I smell the scent of Roses?
Or the smell of an uncertain and unproductive life?
Are my friends really my friends?
What will become of all the history and images
That I have collected in my 62 odd years?
Who will remember?
Who will care?
Everybody says they will but they won't
Everybody says that they do but they don't
Out of sight, out of mind
Absence does not make the heart grow fonder
It just puts space and indifference between you
And the life you hung on to
Clinging to people, places and things as if they were you
The door grows closer now
Do I see a faint light coming from the edges of the door?
Or are my eyes just fooling me into thinking it's there?
I reach for the door knob...
My hand goes through it
My body moves through it
I am on the other side
I am floating in space
I suddenly realize that the door is illusory
When you travel through it what you experience
Is whatever you expect to experience
Now I can go any where, do anything, be anyone
Whatever my mind conceives becomes reality
And I know that sooner or later there will be another corridor
Will I remember this one?
Have I been here possibly many times before?
It can not be avoided
We all have a corridor and a door
And choices to be made
What will you choose?
© 2011 Philip G. DeLoach
Posted by Philip DeLoach at 2:18 PM