10-03-2017, 08:59 AM
Tightrope
I have shunned the white July sun and shivered in the unkind December.
I have known too well the hard ground and the bitter night.
I have learned, but there is only so much that can I remember.
Will I ever do things right?
I have attempted the long, straight and narrow.
I have prayed hard with bowed head on icy knees for kingdom come,
I have with hope fletched, drawn and loosed my crooked arrow.
My tortured truth is that I am not like some.
Reach for my heart with your sweet redemption,
But touch my soul with a 10 foot pole,
I have always been that one maddening exception,
As I perform my hard won but well cast chosen roll.
You are warned; I stand a confessed devil,
And when it counts I will show myself as Satan’s boy,
So much a noteworthy hour when I am on the level,
My wicked tongue, sharp and twitchy, is just his toy.
There are those who can walk the tightrope.
There are those, lithe and clever, who never fall.
When I am flying on that pipe smoke,
I am assured that I know it all.
Some do quite well upon that tightrope,
But there’s no balance in my soul.
I am flying on that good dope.
It seems the only peace I know.
I have shunned the white July sun and shivered in the unkind December.
I have known too well the hard ground and the bitter night.
I have learned, but there is only so much that can I remember.
Will I ever do things right?
I have attempted the long, straight and narrow.
I have prayed hard with bowed head on icy knees for kingdom come,
I have with hope fletched, drawn and loosed my crooked arrow.
My tortured truth is that I am not like some.
Reach for my heart with your sweet redemption,
But touch my soul with a 10 foot pole,
I have always been that one maddening exception,
As I perform my hard won but well cast chosen roll.
You are warned; I stand a confessed devil,
And when it counts I will show myself as Satan’s boy,
So much a noteworthy hour when I am on the level,
My wicked tongue, sharp and twitchy, is just his toy.
There are those who can walk the tightrope.
There are those, lithe and clever, who never fall.
When I am flying on that pipe smoke,
I am assured that I know it all.
Some do quite well upon that tightrope,
But there’s no balance in my soul.
I am flying on that good dope.
It seems the only peace I know.