Septicemia


Time calls have miners in the dirt
listening to a canary, hopinf for a childlike future
hoping to find confluence with you in the mud
calls on the cull there's a vista to see,
another to see to
we need your help echo, from within the mud
who will pass on the torch from mind to mind
transcendence unto the dirt
the glaze is a forge unto, blacksmiths are hard of hearing
is it for the sword or the premises of a killing
or for a mind deserving of it keep
god bless the hand, the mind, the forge, the torch, the cleaning
it's an empty still that serve as filling
to believe in the mud or to believe in the scour
for the jewel inside - the scouring is our own shining
if I will not find gem, will make my light twice as bright
septicemia, my ideal and reality must find a meeting 
but what love set me on this path, this mine
That is the him, in whom I'm seeking.




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