the road flows beneath like the waves of a rolling oceanmy heartbeat strains against the rhythm of the miles and then begin the rain …a heart full of rain there’s somewhere behind me you forget about mein darkness, there’s somewhere behind meI’d rather you wouldn’t be and my heart won’t take this strain …a heart… Read More Heart Full of Rain
At the water’s edgeWe breathe our last goodbyesAnd heave a heavy sighSublime this place in time Beneath the dying lightWe pay our last respectsAnd shoulder vast regrets –‘remember things we can’t forget A bridge of sighsSweet lullabiesStars that rise at eventideWe collude and we collide Don’t lose your faith in time this time… Read More Eventide
’round and ’roundwe turn alonetogether to a place we’ve never known … and call it home just like birdsour thoughts alighton threads so fine ’til startled into flight and we thinkand we feeland we tremble at timesbut don’t talk at all
Originally posted on Robert Müller and the Way Home:
Lie down in the yarrow of the field Let yourself be swallowed By waves of deep green And lose the notion that it all might be a dream Upon new grass, become a love supreme An unfortunate soul trying to break through Caught in the…
It’s a matter of perspective To see outside the lines To extend beyond yourself And your borders Realize it’s all a false construct You and me is no different than us and them Unless you believe it It’s a matter of perspective
And on the eighth day, God created the Mellotron. An audio poem for you to enjoy on SoundCloud.
Does anyone know the way home? Can anyone recall when it was traveled last? The light is dying – the cold is coming fast. I wish I could remember the way home. Every path seems to wander free Far from where I long to be Spiral inward to that place – A mother’s touch, a… Read More Home
How was I supposed to knowThe time would simply come and go?With so much future in my past,How was I to know? How was I to realizeWhat grows so high must one day dieAnd fall in ashes just like snow?How was I to know? I just want to hold your handLike I did way back… Read More Regret
Time moves backward slowly In a gentle arc With the kindest eyes That only see what you make real And what you feel As you you trace your fingers Along the soft edges Suspended by the finest threads That are gone the very moment You realize they are there
Robert Müller and the Way Home 