The Disciple

Everything must change.




So here I am, down in the valley, wishing I was somewhere else.

I left one morning.
Without a warning.
To follow my own commandments.

I lie in wait.
An outcast, I posses money, a mirror, and a clock.

Where does one find true wisdom?

I bide my time.
A fugitive, estranged from this unholy trinity.
Waiting for a word; a sign.
From my brothers in arms.

There is life beyond the mountain.
That is, until the money runs out.
Which disciple will come unto me?

In space
It is cold, as I grow older.
That is, until time runs out.

Whom will they send to lure me back into the fold?
How will they convince me once again to do what I was told?


Down upon the mountain, us followers frolic as we built our daily calves.
For the man who takes it, and gives back less than half.
We all had a real good time.

How much gold does it take to break these commandments?

I wish someone could honestly ask me what I wanted, without me having to part this Red Sea.

Am I healthy?
Am I happy?
Up in this valley once again.
I know you can't grow flowers in a desert.
And you can't put a square inside a circle.


But they go on.
Turning water into wine.
Turning wine into gold.

And I wait...

Who are these children, who scheme and run wild?
Who live with their own kind, and speak in borrowed tongues?

A solitary man, who rambles on
with questions.
You may draw your own conclusions-
as long as you don't have to pay for them.

I then cast the wind to my fate.
But will we all live with the decisions we make?

I keep waiting...

I feel like a reflection of my former self.
Running away from home to my house.
That is, until all the pieces ran out.

A faithful follower, who is committed, dependable, and sincere.
Having not yet reached his full potential and entitlement.
Now, I'm free.

But I worry...

I wish I could do more.
I wish I could pay more.
But they won't pay more.
Even though there is enough of me on that mountain for a hundred million golden calves times ten.

My hands are shaking.
My heart is heavy.
But I've been to the mountaintop.
And now, I'm ready.
Because
Each day that begins, we are born again.

It's true what they say.
It's the mileage, not the years.
And, after all these years, will they still turn back upon me as a friend?

He then drove up.
Slow and certain upon my mountaintop.
His foot was not in his mouth.
And I was not humiliated.

And as he left, we both realized what had not been said.
For we can't keep talking in circles to make it all square.
And we can't take a step back to move forward.

Now, I don't have to worry.





So here I am, down in the valley once again.