Roads float on red hills
And I, their follower
Keep to myself and seek their thrill
For in life I know if one walks long enough
He can be like the road, red and rough.
Is there a road?
A path we all must walk?
Only for he who talks
Will stroll a path
For the wild woes after those who share my wrath.
Save for magicians and feckless wretches
Wisdom spills itself on the wind
And whispers in the trees
I have come round; and seen
Life is not to live it is too bleed
And in bleeding sow seeds
For flowers to grow thereafter.
A muse, a mind,
What is it I want to find?
Boredom of chill, yawning of heat?
I see too few achieve this feat
Of finding it, the it which is and isn't,
The bloodied waters of the still world,
Have no compare to that
And the waters of the depth of soul
Seem shallow in the face of that
So I come and heed the call,
Which in the end, will bring me to fall.
Wind and fool's games
Give me joy in their world-less play
And I have seeking found
That which chains me is that which is bound.