To Cover distances of luscious green abundance,
of biting, hostile desert.
Footsteps, and remembrances,
Thoughts, and electric impulses,
swept and forgotten by heat and sadness.
Out of this desert, where only death survives.
The land which we seek has something for the both of us.
The Market-Man, meaning the only man who makes money
from the market, is good with selling silk textiles.
I, as a healing man, seek medicine.
This medicine, will heal what no other can.
For medicine, as metaphor, is really what I seek.
My medicine is the simple contemplation, peace
In thinking that I may never leave this new place.
That i have found that peace to ease my worried,
aching body.
To stay, would be to abandon my people,
the tradition of my family,
the pride of our evolution.
But to stay,
to stay...
Would be the ultimatum of personal reward.
To settle with what I have, into a life,
the retirement of a grueling career,
into a harmony with my surroundings.
To join the chorus of the peaceful parts of this planet,
a sick, symbiotic,
and musical bliss felt through every bone
as though it were Beethoven in the flesh,
guiding the sonic spectrum at the whims
of his heightened emotion....
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