Can You Read My Mind...?

The problem is, when we don't find a logical answer, we settle for a stupid one. Ritual is what happens when we run out of rationale.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

The Beggar from Luossa

By : Dan Anderson

Around the beggar from Luossa
People sat in circles
And by the camp fire they heard him sing
About beggars and wanderers,about wonderful things
About his long and he sang all night

There is something beyond the mountains
Beyond the flowers and the song
There is something behind the star
Behind my burning heart
Listen something comes whispering
Comes enticing and is asking:
Come to us for this world is not longer you kingdom

I have listened to the waves calm rolling
Towards the shore
About the wild oceans rest,I have dreamt
In my mind I rushed to the shapeless land
Where the most dear we know shall be forgotten
To a wild and endless loneing we were
Born of mothers palthrough anxiety of the birth agony
Sounded our first groaning

Thrown upon hills and highlands,we tumbled round
And played
Where we elks and lions,butterflies,beggers and God
I sat quite by her side,she, whose heart was like mine
Whith tender hands she built a nest,out home
I heard my heart crying,what you own is not yours and I was carried away by spirits to get peace and mind

That I love,it is beyond and hidden afar
And my rihteous way is great and wunderful
And the middle of all pother I am tempted
To pray the lord
You take away all my land,I dont wish to own thing
Come whith me brother,beyond the mountains whith the
Silent chilly rivers
Where the ocean slowly fall asleep in a mountain wrapped bed

Somewhere beyond the heaven is my home,is my mother
In the middle of the hazes of golddash dressed in a
Cape of roses
May the black salty waters cool the fever hot cheeks
May we be miles from life before the morning breaks!
Not from this world I was and eternal hardship
I suffered for the sake of my worry,infidelity and fiery love

By a shell sown beach,stand a gate of heavy roses
Inside moulded wrecks are resting and tired men have
Peace of mind
And high songs never heard like eaches of violin singing
Under arches where children forever young and
Blessed live.

Thank you Uncle Jeff. It's beautiful poem

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