The gist of an abstract poem
Open spaces crowded with shapes
Voices carrying opinions much too far
Fallen angels frolicking in the compost
Cowboys making circles out of stars
The gist of an abstract poem
Transcribed by the mothers of soldiers
Embroidered on the chests of the poor
Promising little, delivering truth
With the ragged edges of a dying chainsaw
The grit of the abstract poem
May be all we have left
To guide us through the intense immensity
Help us unpick the archaic tapestry
And rekindle, reform, be nourished, reborn
It may the gist of a poem
With a wisp of wonder from the was
And a sly nod to our greater intuition
That will remind us of our original cause
The whisper of a long forgotten poem
Listen up
You can hear it
It is ours
Open spaces crowded with shapes
Voices carrying opinions much too far
Fallen angels frolicking in the compost
Cowboys making circles out of stars
The gist of an abstract poem
Transcribed by the mothers of soldiers
Embroidered on the chests of the poor
Promising little, delivering truth
With the ragged edges of a dying chainsaw
The grit of the abstract poem
May be all we have left
To guide us through the intense immensity
Help us unpick the archaic tapestry
And rekindle, reform, be nourished, reborn
It may the gist of a poem
With a wisp of wonder from the was
And a sly nod to our greater intuition
That will remind us of our original cause
The whisper of a long forgotten poem
Listen up
You can hear it
It is ours
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