like ice, eyes like fire.
that offer love for hire.
this house, there dwells a man.
heals the soul like no one can.
to inspire, a shoulder to cry on.
thousand faces, he can try on.
phrasing, fine technique.
the fearful, lift the weak.
look to him for faith and care.
bring their gifts, he meets them there.
system works, and many find
strength of soul, and peace of mind.
when the day is spent and gone,
climbs the stairs and sits alone.
wonders how it all began
gentle, unassuming man
makes his living, selling faith
stands aside and hides his face
never dares to show his pain
never doubts, and feels no shame
here he dwells, in sacred space
in stone, with smiling face.
sometimes, in his room at night
eyes behold a fearsome sight
fix his gaze upon the fire
Ancient Master to inquire
mind remembers words he spoke
dance with faces in the smoke
there he knows, with joy divine
he is of a different kind
race of beings on the Earth
wondrous tribe, of noble birth
live their lives devoid of care
hands to lift despair
can't be seen, or known, or touched
ponder little, offer much
has no life apart from this
feels no joy, he tastes no kiss
sons to dance around his feet
tender maid, his flesh to meet
just to stay inside his room
for all who come.
give to them the hope they crave
fair exchange for alms they gave
just makes sense, a noble quest
his kind, this man's the best
the rubble of their lives
the sorrow, wipe the eyes
folks who wander here and there
search of hope, with cupboards bare
he alone can reach inside
the splinters, calm the tide
truly worth what people pay him
relief from fear and mayhem
do not judge the way he lives
smile he wears, the gifts he gives
understand that in this world
the stones, there lives a pearl
stands alone and won't look back
faces darkness, fear and lack
wipes away the pains of life
cuts the bonds of guilt and strife
walks away from those he helps
a thought about himself
like ice, eyes like fire
that offer "love for hire"
the lonely Shaman's call
life behind a wall
excuse for who he is
can't deny the help he gives
we can wonder, when he's gone
this wondrous path he's on
it pride, or just a gift?
he would have no voice to lift
hopes and fears that were his own
speak his pains, and make them known
take from hands of love with friends
feel and hurt like other men
it seems we'll never know
spirit wind that round him blows
we must simply be content
just accept this noble gent
place our judgment on the shelf
And keep him hid inside ourself.
Daniel Jacob, 1993.
1993-2012. All Rights Reserved.