He

He’s got a handful of something that
won’t fill the bank in his soul,
Turning other pieces
to fit into the hole.
He knows there’s something more for
him and won’t surrender dreams,
His vision’s dimmed only within
the sight of forgotten scenes.

He’s a good man, a lover, kind
and listens with his heart,
Sharpened on an edge where right
and wrong each play their part.
Scribbled down mistakes,
he’s torn and thrown away,
The faded, yellowed pages
of a worn out yesterday.

He dislikes hate and ignorance,
the impact left by greed,
And struggles to understand faith
and what he really needs.
Though he kicks the rock of tomorrow
to reach for hopes unseen,
From quests gone by, the dirt remains;
his shoes just won’t come clean.

Truth, in our veins, like a mighty train,
Travels on through every pain.
The tracks are laid by the river’s edge,
To take you from your quiet ledge.
You don’t need to leap, just lay down.
Go under the water; you will not drown.
Into the tunnel, where mysteries abound.
To the light, where peace is found.

There’s a steady voice he hears calling,
but it asks for letting go.
The gorge he’s carved with his past
is just too far below.
He’s built himself on manhood,
and is standing tall.
He can take the cuts and bruises,
but he doesn’t want to fall.

So it’s sand from the desert that is
stinging in his eyes,
‘cause as much as he’s got deep feeling,
he’s not ready to cry.
He’d love something to touch places
inside no one can see,
And a drink to ease the harsh,
parched throat of his integrity.

He’ll quiet his mind and treat his heart
with the sound of someone’s songs,
But it isn’t enough to silence the whys,
he’ll carry them, singing along.
A guitar strum, an endurance run,
puts one more weight on the bar.
An emotional load left out on the road,
but that journey didn’t go far.

The salt on his lip and the drink in his
hand, aren’t what he knows is there,
There’s something that shakes around
him at night in the uncertain air.
He looks at the ground, at the sky, all around,
seeing others more than himself.
Seems like his dreams are filed, unseen,
somewhere on an old, dusty shelf.

Truth, in our veins, like a mighty train,
Travels on through every pain.
The tracks are laid by the river’s edge,
To take you from your quiet ledge.
You don’t need to leap, just lay down.
Go under the water; you will not drown.
Into the tunnel, where mysteries abound.
To the light, where peace is found.

Truth, in our veins, like a mighty train,
Travels on through every pain.
The tracks are laid by the river’s edge,
To take you from your quiet ledge.
You don’t need to leap, just lay down.
Go under the water; you will not drown.
Into the tunnel, where mysteries abound.
To the light, where peace is found.

Truth, in our veins, like a mighty train,
Travels on through every pain.
Faith in your ears. No other sound.
To the light, where peace is found.

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