I will speak to you, not of love and loss,
heartache, war and vengeance.
I have no tale of erecting monuments,
heroes blood spilt, and horizonless journeys.
I will speak to you, not of symphonies,
blues, psychedelica, religion,
none of those I can give words.
I will speak, not of flesh, no words of wanton,
excruciating erotica exhibitions, flying, fucking,
flowing free on fifth dimensional carriers.
But I will speak,
of frogs, ferns and grindstones.
Dew at sunrise, breeze at sunset.
Soil, seeds and sandalwood.
Come closer child, and I will tell you,
all that matters.