Imagine every sinew of the body, tight as a guitar string.
What tune should we play?
Can music come from a shattered mind,
When hope is gone what is left?
Broken images from the past,
Filter through my senses,
My face remains a granite block,
No window there.
Yet inside I shed hot molten tears,
I am done.
I sit on shingle beside the sea,
Feel the gentle rhythms move,
Massage deep within my soul,
Hold me gently Mother Nature,
Look on me my loving moon,
Bathe me in your gentle glow,