There's a cost to having the gentlest soul:
The giants eat through a town like this in seconds,
Uproot the university as if was a banana tree,
Drink down whatever sweetness is left upon the faces,
Rip through the night market to find and devour
The most pungent and succulent fruit
In a blink of a wandering eye --
Cursed with a vehicle that is led to more sensation,
The giants eat through a town like this in seconds,
Uproot the university as if was a banana tree,
Drink down whatever sweetness is left upon the faces,
Rip through the night market to find and devour
The most pungent and succulent fruit
In a blink of a wandering eye --
Cursed with a vehicle that is led to more sensation,
Incessantly, in a slow, deliberate sway
Between the unacceptable and the corrupt,
Guided only by a child's nose for the fresh
To amble in the rose thorn bushes.
Between the unacceptable and the corrupt,
Guided only by a child's nose for the fresh
To amble in the rose thorn bushes.
Yet with each masticated branch
More arrangements are made by the small -- ever fearful
More arrangements are made by the small -- ever fearful
And curious -- to separate it from the rest.
The silly giant does not see them though as smaller,
It can't accept the way it is either,
The way the world made it large enough for its soul.
All error pushes against the back of its throat,
That the way it is is how it must be,
For all to be shared equally.
That is how it tries to end the mind that sees
Only an endless swath of destruction ahead,
Which leaves only a heart breaking to love,
Forgiving in advance, forgetting slights instantly,
Knowing there's no wrong, though there is suffering,
The flies that puncture the thickest hide,
The path that always leads away.
The silly giant does not see them though as smaller,
It can't accept the way it is either,
The way the world made it large enough for its soul.
All error pushes against the back of its throat,
That the way it is is how it must be,
For all to be shared equally.
That is how it tries to end the mind that sees
Only an endless swath of destruction ahead,
Which leaves only a heart breaking to love,
Forgiving in advance, forgetting slights instantly,
Knowing there's no wrong, though there is suffering,
The flies that puncture the thickest hide,
The path that always leads away.
Do these graven images suffice,
The dreams of grandeur they represent?
Will they relieve its lumbering misery,
Or make it harder to bear, to be a prophet
Without portfolio, honored without remorse,
Nothing of it understood? Only a stately
The dreams of grandeur they represent?
Will they relieve its lumbering misery,
Or make it harder to bear, to be a prophet
Without portfolio, honored without remorse,
Nothing of it understood? Only a stately
Presence, far away and all-evading,
What can't even be looked away from,
That tells us nothing of clouds or soil.
What can't even be looked away from,
That tells us nothing of clouds or soil.
Yet the lions laugh at the need to make such things known,
For at this very moment, it is welcomed as a God
On the island of the monkeys.
For at this very moment, it is welcomed as a God
On the island of the monkeys.
