I live in a land where the fields stretch off into the night
Like a green sea.
Whispers in the grass that tell of something more.
I am the daughter of an outlaw . . .
And a religious zealot.
With a gun in one hand and a bible in the other
Even though I don't believe.
But I have been taught to protect the old ways, the not so good ways,
Certain truths that are no more certain then the sky with it's ceaseless patterns
Claiming to be holy mystery's.
And no one found the looking glass
But it's claimed someone fell through
Into the rabbit hole
And around the bend and back again.
Nothing it true and yet it all is.
We don't decide
We just are
And must make the best of it.
What a joke.
But no ones laughing.
We take our lives to seriously.