Lead in the Middle

Find the One With Joy

Hop down from your post
Don't dismay
If all it takes is sorrow
We'll find another way
Make up your tragic ending
Before you start to cry
Or write another sonnet
From teardrops in the sky
Give no one all your potion
Give no one all your gaze
For up upon the mountain
Is the maker of the maze
Walk once to the end
Burst through the wall
Over the shadows
Into the hall
Back after the prize
If we shall ever grow
Back under the tulips
Along with the rose
The ships that sink our fears
The hollowed harvest now
The mark upon our shoulders
The furrow in our brow
Make not another willow tree
Before you count us gone
For deep within our numbers
The sadness has grown strong
We search along our lines of wrath
We dig up all our braids
And all along each melody
A notion hath been laid
For on a muddy hill
Much farther than we tread
We know the One with Joy
No longer are we dead

Thus Saith the Farther Ones

The cry is not for a hope we are never to see
The lament is not for nothing
I am but in the simple way
A fine cloth made of stuffing
And if you hold it to the light
It grows cold in the stone
Shaken like a tub of ice
Frozen and alone
Or down
Or always 
Thus Saith the Farther Ones
I will never touch the farthest sky
Why do you advocate
Of all the ancient remedies
Of all the twists of fate
Or even preach the finer things
That no one 'ere achieved
Or reach across the ocean
To drag a pile of leaves
Bereaved and indifferent
Choking up like weeds in spring
I see the saddest children
Could only hope to bring
A bucket of coal
Of sand and ash
I hold my hand 
A string of sash
To mend the last of these great wires
To hold the mentor of your fire
Your own reproach has never gleamed
A finer thing we'll never see
Than days grown old with harrowed ease
At last a motion of reprieve

Give Your Eyes to the Weakness

When you hold it higher than your hands can go
Up to the reaches where no one is shown
But stumbling blocks for man and beast
Go down into the tumbling least
But who can hold the only key
Be sure of you and more of me
To hold the lesser of the free
Up to the fire of the acorn tree
Give your eyes to the weakness 
For just one day
Make memories of nothing
But shun the pain of play
Turn waves of oceans into slaves
If only we can take their graves
For higher than we ever know
Is something bright and greater
The former not so early the latter only later
The cover of the moon
The burning of the sun
The one who works alone
The ones as yet to come
Like green in the forest 
Or blue in the sky
Or hints of red in apples
A lonely lullaby
Good night


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