The good doctor bade me to speak my mind
And I say aloud:
"It is only paper and a fine pen"
"The paper only needs to be filled"
"And my heart, not my mind"
"Knows what to say"
"My mind knows the words"
And, good doctor, I think to myself
You were a villain to some, for sometime
But, you my teacher, I your pupil,
You are always in my mind
Then, is this you in the room
As I write these words to you?
A Saint's Brigade cometh.
Or, is this one of my perennial beliefs
That the end will come of God's hand
And so precious few stand to be saved?
Your need - or is it mine? - for individuality
Burns in my heart
I must stand true
Remain a poet by day and night
But, beware my wrath
Any who challenge my own faiths
For they must walk my fields soon
And the shepherds know who to shelter
And who to hang
I have asked for salvation and believe
- A belief of the strongest fibers -
That salvation is at hand, for those I have asked.
I don't believe it is the question
But the recipient.
I asked for you because it seemed
Like the right thing
And because I wanted to.
We have yet to share a toast
But that day will come
Upon it we will laugh together
For who dares say they know
What forces coerce the morrow
Or what actually happened today?