No rmal (regular mundane average life)
There’s nothing worse for a poet
Than to have no poem
But even darker still
Is a life with no desire
An existence with no burning fire
Long has it been quenched and calmed
Into a vicious and nasty state
Known as normal
It’s time to arise
It’s time to arise
To stretch out those broken wings to fly
(For how will you taste healing unless you fly again)
Feeling the winds of yearning begin to lift you up
To taste the sweet and bitter cup
Of the real and untamed and glorious Fire
Of the deep and haunting chalice of desire
Begin to dream again
Begin to call impossible friend
And watch him yield to the sight that is within you
Who makes all things new
Songs From the River 