Rock In Your Hand by Ginger Baker Thomson Is that a rock in your hand? Is that your house of glass on the sand? Before you cast your stack of stones, I may have more than Ive made known. But Ill not throw them, my friendship is pure. Instead my hand reaches out for yours. But you took your blade and thrust it deep, Thinking Id fall to my feet. An easier target Id be no doubt, Forced to retreat and cry it out. While your walls of glass thicken with mud and mold, Ive slaved to cover mine with gold. As tides sweep your house out to sea, Ive labored mine above the trees. The view is glorious and my dreams run free, And you, once friend, could have shared with me. Rocks are wasted on heads of wood. Ill polish mine for beauty and good. It must feel heavy to cart them around, How good it feels up here off the ground. A rock in your hand, a rock in your hand. House of glass upon the sand. Rock in your hand, rock in your hand. Shattered glass... sinking sand. ~Ginger Baker Thomson copyright©2014 - See more at: wildgingerspiro/blog/backroads-philosopher#sthash.TTVJqkP6.dpuf
Posted on: Sun, 31 Aug 2014 04:24:10 +0000
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