city of white houses
I'd walked in the day and the night as well.
On the way to balance heaven and hell.
Day too bright and night too dark
To see what was right and where to begin the start.
I couldn’t see any more what I was looking at
So I walked out the door and put it all to my back.
I drove through the night under a ladder of stars
Out to out of sight of every iron bar.
Lookin’ for where the difference is more than the sum.
Lookin’ for where I'm not from.
What I was looking for is easy to tell.
A little bit of heaven mixed with some of hell.
It’s easy to tell but so hard to find.
It’s the balance that you feel
That centers sublime.
It's not the center where gravity can’t be felt.
And the place you enter depends on cards dealt.
And how you play them, though there's limits to that
Set by unheard commands of draw or stay pat.
My mind had wandered further than my car
As I asked my hitchhiker, “Do you know where we are?”
“Oh yes,” she said, “About forty miles from there.”
"What", I said, “Forty miles from where?”
"Forty miles to the balance that fits you best.
Just keep going straight and the miles'll do the rest.”
“Tell me dear lady, do you know me so well?
“Yeah, you’re looking for a bit of heaven and some of hell.”
It’s easy to tell but so hard to find.
It’s the balance that you feel
That centers sublime.
Her words repeating as the road threw me curves
The night screaming as I fought the swerve
That fell from the echo on that long drive home
When I realized in the darkness that I was alone.
Darkness was deep when I pulled into town,
Much too dark to sleep or to see my way around.
Dawn lent its shadows as it lent its dim light
To a city of white houses with the feel of the fight
That fell so long ago bringing darkness to night.
Every house new and every house white
Except one in the center and off to the right.
With dark red color and a roof dark and low,
Hitchhiker in the doorway, skin white as snow.
In the city of white houses I stay to this day.
In the city of white houses I have found the way
To what's so hard to find but so easy to say.
I hear the white houses and one that is red
That ring in the living and drown out the dead.
And though I still hear the tolling of the bells
The truth is that I can’t truly tell
Which color is heaven and which is hell.
It's not on a map or sitting in your lap
For all your trying you can't catch it in a trap.
It’s easy to tell but so hard to find.
It’s the balance that you feel
That centers sublime.