The Hollow Man's Gifts

Holding the sky until the world fell first so the future can weep at daisies; He stands adamant - No disbelief at the cloudy weight or the disappearing surface, And strong he stills to stone no struggle to be heard, but they knew as we did The marvel of this pure pillar. An invisible noose for a pawn, translucent and unaware of touch Only honest will. Not him but the rest, Struggle through the midnight march and toil in the angel land with the promise choir, - All thoughtless prayer, - But our saviour stony and perpetual, For no immoral wish infects this soil, as future understands. With no plan to question or youth to challenge, this is as constant as his inner ache. Growth in viny decoration sustains hope that comes with life - In stony reverence our saviour still. And gone our saviour still as we ascend, crawl to icy skies And he our saviour still, wears those shackles ours. No moon with a thousand eyes or a sun with a thousand ears can dare or summon But he with no guilty mind sings our melody. This gravel fills; Weak at our knees with lungs of war, we echo And there - Where is our need to cry for he our saviour still, with his stony embrace, And we only breathe life into a warm aura. If only this luck with tender descent would remain free of the ages But here our life still reigns supreme, with stars and seasons hiding their paths Though we immutable, in this we pray. With this paper crane and he, we ride and to future he delivers Who but he, our saviour still, could sew these watery prayers in secure promise. We believe not in the convulsing form of the higher placed But the solid hollow frame to which we bind, Bear the ocean in the night to steer us to the life of angels, with no tide to swallow But our bright and stormy home. In visions of mountain entry he melts the light and carries us, our fear, And we grow - and with that life and hope Our saviour still.