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~ 1 ~
We suffer life before being condemned to die,
In youth given hope with a vain desirous eye,
That while the seeds are sown that beauty blooms,
The bitter wind of change just quietly croons.
Yet sometimes even youth from winter days,
Reap pain and sorrow that their hope decays,
For in the smoke and flame of tragic war,
The gallows of their endings they all saw.
'Tis by design we mock death 'till the end,
Hiding our fear of what none comprehend,
For we all do as we were fashioned so to do,
As birds and trees and flowers and me and you,
Pass through this life like fishes through the sea,
On which rides all the hope of life's decree.
~ 2 ~
We die because we can live no more,
From a bullet or from a festered sore,
From disease or from the frailty of old age,
That lacks the strength to turn another page.
So many experts yet they do not know,
All are animals that from the Earth do grow,
All competing with a desire to survive,
To keep their offspring thus their race alive.
Each dines upon the other; the flocks are thinned,
The balance kept for the changing wind,
To blow across the perpetual magic growth,
To spread new seeds of life or death or both.
And while man works towards his own control,
He reduces the ingredients that make his mission whole.
~ 3 ~
Desire requires a lust for "love" to bloom,
A deep emotion to make a woman swoon,
Designed to make a clever engine slave,
A chemical to make both male and female crave,
Lest one the other the other does not see,
That from each other they do not choose to flee,
Thereby depriving life of death and birth,
That keeps alive the essence of the Earth.
What point would life after death proclaim?
Other than hope to the innocent young and vain,
And to the powers that use it for control,
And for the passionate sadness to console.
Life after death lacks purpose and denies,
The common sense and logic in mans' eyes.
~ 4 ~
There is nothing left now for a man to be,
No branches left to grow upon the tree,
No wars to fight no comrades to defend,
Nobody left who might on me depend.
'Tis said there's life after an old man dies,
Superstitious dreams or maybe just plain lies,
For what would be the point; and logic shows,
That from a seed decayed sweet nothing grows.
Blessed we are with thought but thought it is,
And nothing else though we perceive it bliss,
To dream of heaven where we hope to go,
Upon ourselves a saving grace bestow.
But where dolphins go and fishes in the sea,
So will perception die inside of me.
~ 5 ~
Those who deny the great Earth of their rot,
In chosen Hell by furnace flames devoured,
Fertilize not sweet nature's perpetual plot
For not a single seed has from a furnace flowered.
Flames warm the frozen but devour the dead,
While Mother Earth enriches all that die,
Accepting them in the living contours of her bed,
To be renewed by the sunlight of the heavenly sky.
Hell is the furnace of the human brain,
There constructed where heaven itself is born,
Cosy bed mates one and each the same,
A dusk derived from a favoured dawn.
But all is relative; light made light by dark,
And lost in light; darkness leaves no mark.
~ 6 ~
'Tis not another who would break our hearts,
But our own expectant trespass into hope,
For when the pain of confusions cloud departs,
We find without the commitment we can cope.
'Tis when time fits each shadow that they merge,
Imprinting in each other one in one,
That real deep love from loss doth then emerge,
For cherished over time 'tis never gone.
He who can walk away leaves naught behind,
For he took naught with him that two souls could share
And what he keeps is what he did not find,
For oft desire lacks the will to care.
The aggressive man will win out over most,
But lasting love will rarely be his boast.
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