let's look to the hands of the weak
for the scars of more genuine living.
i'm stuck in this intellectual rut
trying to find an explanation
in the wrong language.
weak at the knees but strong
at the top of my spine.
Oh Solomon, who am I kidding?
i'm doubting like a philistine.
(behold thy walls Jerusalem...)
my throat is sore from crying and my bed is wet with tears.
i have no stone tablet for anyone
so tell me why
are you waiting for me to give you textbook answers
before you start to move?
i can't secure
your fading wealth because it sickens me.
so let us part the clouds
and start your mind in a fresh day,
and put aside the things you learned.
let's stretch out our fingers
and we might
just get to that promised land
before we suck it's life away.
and so we're reaching,
trying to shift the focus from the world to myself
and those around me who i love.
and so we're reaching,
trying to conceive the size of lightyears
and trying to save the world that sustains us.
and yes we're reaching,
one building block at a time
until the roofs of our houses disrupt jerusalem.
so nearly reaching,
so close and yet so far.
just one last tear-stained exertion to get to that elusive contact.
