I think that a thought is an arrow that springs From the bow of an intellect grand By the coincidence of a number of things, All crafted in destiny’s hand. The tenser the bowstring, the farther it goes To land in a sea of a plan, A hilltop of action, a field of repose, Or a swamp of the words of a man.
There is a time when you need to be Returning, repentant and still, For times were when you went cold like the sea And drowned everything in a swill. There is a place where you need to be To fix all the damage you’d done To bodies and minds and hearts couldn’t see Impaired by the blindness of fun. The time here is now, the place now is here, It’s all you have got, and yourself to fear.