Dirt

In a searching of afar,
Makes one a wondering star,
In the wonderings why,
If the top is really sky,

See the bottoms up,
In the beginning of luck,
The lines a day off start,
Searching blind in the dark.

My journey long the wicked,
My walk amongst the saints,
My paper my brush,
My pen my paint.

Towing my row of dirt today,
That sweet soft spot where I intend to lay,
A song softly played alone,
Among my broken trees of stone,

Write I will on this wall,
In the epitaph of my call,
In the beginning of the end,
I have come around once again……….

Fennigan 5.15.11