song - Cross of Lies
Now every song calls moments home, mainly grains of summer
I sit and turn them clumsily to keep the tide at bay
And here through flattened notes I hear the coming of the drummer
In all those words like wingbeats that once carried us away
I’ve got nothing to be thankful for, so I tell myself
Except the gifts I couldn’t choose and all I couldn’t get
For, of all the sons of Adam gone, you’re the one I miss
High upon the cross of lies, tell me how it came to this
You had the power once to kill the sunlit afternoon
I’d hear you on the old dirt-track; the driver’s door flung shut
I cowered low behind my dreams, and all too soon, too soon
The hills all fell away and the ragged chord was cut
You fought the world and taught me how to damn myself alone
You pitched the darkness all around, and so I found the light
And found the light was shadow I would throw from stone to stone
And across the darkened water I went wading into night
We had a brother in the world; he toiled upon the land
He worked with stone and family and dreamed of modest yields
But you and I dreamed out of reach, to plains of salt and sand
Out of pitch and out of season beyond the fertile fields
I can’t forget your glance that day, down in East Tarbet Bay
You said goodbye in silence to the anchor holding fast
Now echoes ride the waves that dance through all that went astray
Through all the circles broken and through all the shadows cast
There was a time we might have talked beyond the lies of life
So much we could have spoken of: the glory of young love,
The sweetest lie of all and then the letting go of lies
But for now the summer’s gone and I think I’ve said enough
I’ve had love I should be thankful for, so I tell myself
Forget the gifts I couldn’t choose and all I couldn’t get
For, of all the sons of Adam gone, you’re the one I miss
High upon the cross of lies, tell me how it came to this
It’s not the kiss of the scorpion’s tail waiting in the wings
And it’s not that old south-westerly crying through the leaves
It’s not the broken wave that’s tearing down these cliffs
It’s the harmony that passed us by between the golden sheaves
poem by Jim Hogg
Added by Poetry Lover
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