Minute thoughts recorded on the tablets of time
thinking love graces music in a world out of rhyme.
In a system perfected to envelope all wrong
when cast in the wasteland of beauty and song.
I wander and wonder of happening love,
and where I can grab the brass ring and pull myself up above--
for love must be grasped by these hands of mine
or I drift back to the wasteland and follow the blind.
Tan Son Nhut 18 Dec 1970 |