Once apon a time, I wondered
whether or not I was insane.
When I saw the green green grass
flowing like a ocean under the breeze,
soft and cool under mud-stained feet,
I asked myself why I hurt so much in the midst of joy.
And blindly I touched my heart,
gazing along the brick walls of school,
and the jury came back with "Not Guilty."
~~~~~
There is no happiness in Christ to me.
They who say he washes your burdens away, they lie.
I have seen plently a Godly women weep,
many a holy man turn from the street
in fear of showing their pained hearts.
Knowledge, there is the tiger-hair brush
that paints the agony deep in my soul.
Because I think, I doubt, and so search around
for the answers where there seem to be none,
only tales and myths, security in blind faith,
or a simple touch, shake of a head, " I know not."
And I chose to know not as well, but to simply
go on living, and when people ask me why,
I give them the same answer, and show them
my artwork.
Why is there evil in the world? We make it,
through the imperfection we cannot hope to fix.
But yet I do not expect a magical solution,
only rational work to lessen the pain.
My heart tell me I am not inherently evil,
my emotions tell me I am not inherently good.
And my wandering mind stops to remind me
not to expect to be perfect, as I am not that.
My heart tells me I am no vile miserable sinner,
my emotions tell me I am no unredeemed lout.
My mind speaks of errancy and translation and how
could some mystical blood sacrifice wash away sins
and mark me with crimson while my Egyptian sisters burn?
How could I accept that mark when they burn?
~~~~~
My way is in a book I write myself,
jotting and pruning unruly branches my own way.
Yeshua and Tao, Emerson and Mao,
find the middle way of tolerance and love, each piece.
I tame my own fire, and sometimes myself I burn,
but I ice the wounds and try again. For I may
not have the age and wisdom of others,
yet I strive to be the best woman I can be.
And if I see no god in the green green grass,
and yet have the strength to say it as well --
If I love my fellow woman with passion and faith,
and have the pride to be damned for being myself --
If I stand here a woman, strive to be a Prince,
and shove off the submission of princess and bride --
Know and accept, live and respect.
For it's thus we will change the world.
whether or not I was insane.
When I saw the green green grass
flowing like a ocean under the breeze,
soft and cool under mud-stained feet,
I asked myself why I hurt so much in the midst of joy.
And blindly I touched my heart,
gazing along the brick walls of school,
and the jury came back with "Not Guilty."
~~~~~
There is no happiness in Christ to me.
They who say he washes your burdens away, they lie.
I have seen plently a Godly women weep,
many a holy man turn from the street
in fear of showing their pained hearts.
Knowledge, there is the tiger-hair brush
that paints the agony deep in my soul.
Because I think, I doubt, and so search around
for the answers where there seem to be none,
only tales and myths, security in blind faith,
or a simple touch, shake of a head, " I know not."
And I chose to know not as well, but to simply
go on living, and when people ask me why,
I give them the same answer, and show them
my artwork.
Why is there evil in the world? We make it,
through the imperfection we cannot hope to fix.
But yet I do not expect a magical solution,
only rational work to lessen the pain.
My heart tell me I am not inherently evil,
my emotions tell me I am not inherently good.
And my wandering mind stops to remind me
not to expect to be perfect, as I am not that.
My heart tells me I am no vile miserable sinner,
my emotions tell me I am no unredeemed lout.
My mind speaks of errancy and translation and how
could some mystical blood sacrifice wash away sins
and mark me with crimson while my Egyptian sisters burn?
How could I accept that mark when they burn?
~~~~~
My way is in a book I write myself,
jotting and pruning unruly branches my own way.
Yeshua and Tao, Emerson and Mao,
find the middle way of tolerance and love, each piece.
I tame my own fire, and sometimes myself I burn,
but I ice the wounds and try again. For I may
not have the age and wisdom of others,
yet I strive to be the best woman I can be.
And if I see no god in the green green grass,
and yet have the strength to say it as well --
If I love my fellow woman with passion and faith,
and have the pride to be damned for being myself --
If I stand here a woman, strive to be a Prince,
and shove off the submission of princess and bride --
Know and accept, live and respect.
For it's thus we will change the world.