There's a moment
When you decide to leave;
Spent your last Lincoln;
All you have left to believe-
Are a story, a song, and the sun?
He's your guide and scared star
Still have not gone far
But you're left to believe
That your soul shall breathe
Like the wind/water shaping the desert.
Am not a beatnik or a hippie
Just a woman who's left to believe
Mountains and redwoods from a ballad shall conceive
A wandering smile while planting a sweet pea.
Oh Liberty in the center of hailing earth
You stand primitive yet are seething like giving birth
An I am left to believe
The right copy is the original
Buried in the mind of silent skull.
Who's the vulture of image?
Not a man nor an animal
Just a poet of a thunderous yellow rage
Touching his genderless blood and loud skull.
The autumn Sabbath's beauty
Is left to believe
Accidental oranges and yellow are free;
I am on the 66th road climbing the volcano to deceive
Nature's gentle river roar,
Yet I left lost in her revolving door.
Dreaming beneath a raining cirrus sky
My faith is her silver cry;
All I left to believe
In are a story, song, and the moon.
She's your strength and light;
During Spring Equinox's eve
I conversed with my hematite rune
And danced bare in her loving night.
Though left to believe
My soul's dangling on a string of red silk
Without the sweetness of moon mother's milk;
I am still left to believe
Life's a simple red free ocean garden.
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