Down some country road,
Down the macadam, concrete, dirt, brick, gravel, cobblestone way
Beyond the civilization and the forest primeval
Is a lane between hedges
Whereas the outer edges
Are painted a deep unfavorable blue
A dark and deep hue
As forbidding as the heart of smoke
And down the lane of hedges is broken time
Smashed clocks, torn calendars, shattered sundials, erased chalk ticks
Except destruction cannot hold back the seasons
So you will come upon stubble of harvest
Or the blur of swirling snow
Or the daffodil of spring
Or the dried brown crust of baked hay
On the seventh Sunday of a summer day
But they plant the harvest in the same old way
As did the old in the day of youth
On the same same field with the same same seeds
And when the snows come they light the same fire
To huddle by and make the same complaint
The faces change and never change
Young once and elderly all melded into one
Because it’s not safe to be different or strange.
But there is no life
In the stifling suffocating surreal stagnantmentation of status quo
The pond of time always ripples
And the stones of castle foundations crumble and crack.
How do you find salvation
If you never find suffering?
You do not find life without death.
You do not get to heaven without going through the singe of hell.