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“Ochre”
The mirror shows what’s in front
And also what’s behind
It takes more than bottled water to purify a mind.
Poisoning the school of reason
What’s in it for me?
Tuning into instinct is where I want to be.
Home is where I start each day in comfort and with ease
We’ve been blowing the horn of plenty
Now we’re blowing that horn away
Here’s my card in this wall of sound
I find I can’t listen
To suspect and unwritten laws
Something must be missing.
The sand’s fine in the hourglass
The mirror states the case
The spirit in the three-piece suit
Has ochre on its face.
Blues in a dusty railway yard floating from an old tin stack
We fly beneath the radar and then we double back
We spread our limbs and hope to find
Things that bring relief
But there’s no gain from the gentle rain
If the roots are small beneath.
I know you’ve been crying though you say nothing’s wrong
You think that I would be long gone if you cannot be strong
We scrape and deal for what may count
Even though it won’t
Well some run dry and some get high
And some tell you they don’t.
© Gerry Wall | Canada | www.gerrywall.com