It\u2019s true
\nI don\u2019t compose my songs.
\nThey come from me like a river,
\nlike a wind released from the mountains.
\nLike fluttering moths
\nlooking for a host.
\nThey just come,
\nlike strangers down a road,
\nand I know it is nuclear inside me.
\nThe deep, burning light of a dream
\nthat leaves no ashes,
\nno coals to be scattered about,
\nno notes to be held,
\nwords to be studied.<\/p>\n
It is simply my heart,
\nburning for a destined time,
\nand then no more.
\nSo it is true,
\nI don\u2019t agonize,
\nsearch for meaning,
\nsave up subjects,
\ntie knots in hope,
\ndescribe false love,
\nput forever in small places.<\/p>\n
I have a life.
\nI sleep and wake up in fear and joy.
\nI puzzle and trace frost with my finger,
\nwondering why the moon
\nleaves its face on a glass,
\nwhy I love so much,
\nwhy I get so tired,
\nwhy nothing is a mystery,
\nyet I understand nothing.
\nAnd then I know,
\nI am simply a sound,
\na drum,
\na shell in which the sea sings,
\nand trees whisper,
\nand words come,
\nfrom the shadows
\nof an un-composed life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It\u2019s true I don\u2019t compose my songs. They come from me like a river, like a wind released from the mountains. Like fluttering moths looking…<\/p>\n