House of Hopes and Dreams
I grew up in a house on a hill – still there, and cared for
by uncareful hands, it has become an empty shell
a place I know too well
Time moves on and my House of hopes and Dreams
waits beneath the brow of a different hill.
There may be birdsong from dark branches
water running close at hand
there may be woodsmoke from last night’s fires
soft wind sighing in the pines
But the Peace that passes all understanding
falls around like a gentle rain.
But if can catch the magic hour
between the sunrise and the break of day
I won’t gather my unravelled threads
just get on my way.
A timely homecoming, not too late
and God knows, not too soon
not for us who labour on
to seek such sweet repose
But as my eyes are filled with tears
my House of Hopes and Dreams
is taken by the mists again.
Notes: The title is borrowed from Pete Sinfield’s song on the album In the Court of the Crimson King – a wonderful, wonderful album that I grew up with. There is no copyright on titles, I believe. As for the words themselves – mine couldn’t be further from Sinfield’s. I’d have to say that my song is a lot less life affirming than his. Yes, it’s about death.
(c) 2009 Cameron Pyke