Out There

Walking through the hills I found

That deserts are quite dry

The sagebrush tells a stilling tale

And it’s you who must ask why.


Leaving off the finer things

To bask in natures iron fist

The wind blows dust across the hills

And comfort is what’s truly missed.


I embarked with thoughts on fire

And had them quenched with biting sand

The mother’s blowing chill desire

Is to see me in the land.


Death seems but a step away

And all the wishing is quite sad

But wind is blowing sand around

And happiness cannot be had.


So looking for the better thing

I walked into the waiting hills

And climbed upon the crumbling rocks

Until my soul had had its fill.


Senses That Fail

The hunger doesn’t match the fear

And exhaustion overtakes the soul

And if you look up just right then

You may find a hand to hold.


The things that felt impossible

Will drift away and dissappear

But only in the darkest place

Will you sometimes see Him near.


It’s not that in the best of times

You are all alone to fend

But you yourself cannot see

In happiness around the bend.


So when you cannot take the toll

And every minute is an hour

Look up to the clouded sky

And feel the hand of steady power.

To the Little Hands

The day was left to other things

And I was left to find my way

The little feet made many steps

And feet became some miles that day.


I knew that things were not quite well

So I was on my gaurd to save

And traveling with my small hands

I did my best so I’d behave.


The bigger hands were shaky then

And mine were just so small

I knew that life would be quite long

And feared how I would fall.


I wished that I was big and strong

That I might make the shaking halt

But earth and sky and demons roared

And shaking I could feel the fault.


Oh little children hear my voice

The answers aren’t inside

Seek a giant in the hills

And stay right by his side.


Do not think that you will know

Do not think that you will find

Seek a giant in the hills

To save your heart and mind.


To the weak that toil beneath the sun

And long for rest under the shade

Have you my friend even begun?

To make your way to where it’s laid?


But who can find the way so far?

And climb themselves up there so high?

And who can weather many storms?

The ones that come to see you die.


We long for what is there my friend

And wish that it were ours to hold

But wishing never made it so

And many trying won’t die old.