Let every crack be a place for seeds to sprout,
Let the forest return to this place!
Let the rocks be done wearing our face,
And may every fractured avenue lead out!
Rome is crumbling.
All of the magic
That will save us is outside of Rome.
Inside the empire
Everything is falling.
It’s a magic-vacuum
That has sucked us in for so long
That we began to believe that every road
Ultimately led nowhere!
If you are still in Rome
You can hear the buildings imploding.
The walls are all falling inward
Like a massive demolition.
Everything is falling toward the center.
Only outside of the walls is there life.
I had forgotten what magic was
Until I was on the Burren
And I heard the call of the cuckoo
And a wise person instructed me
To still the chatter in my head.
And then there was the sound
Of water trickling from a sacred well.
And I wondered,
How can I go back?
Most of me has left Rome,
The land of my birth.
It would make anyone cry, right?
To leave the place of their birth,
Even if it has gone bad!
Sometimes we just have to pack up
And become travelers.
Paint the moon and stars
On our wagons,
Leave for our sanity.
Go.
How far is far enough?
Maybe just until you can hear the songs ahead of you,
Songs that will never be written
Because they will always be changing.
And let us never freeze the stars
Into constellations again,
But trust the old familiar
That waits for us on the path,
That watches us tenderly,
Or watches for us
From the deeper shadows of love and story.