A home,
But there also comes a time
When totters and falls it,
Something occasions for
Its destruction,
What is that,
Say you?
What is that shakes
The foundation of the structure
Built upon labour and goodwill,
Desire of sustenance,
Friction or fissure,
Difference of opinion
Or the pathways of life separating?
the piper so they say.
Pay for all the wrongs
credited to our life,
pay for all the things
we should have done,
but never got around to do.
Pay for any hurt we’ve caused
when came to call
and we never did respond.
No one is ever perfect,
we’ve all got our crosses
that we have to bare.
So when it comes to paying
the piper so they say.
I guess we’ll all have to pay.
21 January 2008
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when the carpenter lays down the hammer,
when the lover walks out the door.
when the child turns away
from childish things.
when the mother steps back,
and opens the door.
when the old man stomps out
the fire with his boots.
when the sky falls,
and the earth rises.
when the poor just will not
take it any more.
when the sacred reveals
itself in a back alley.
when the truth steps up
and cuts the throat of the lie.
when the wind returns
from whence it came.
when the poet lays down his pen,
and becomes the poem!
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calls for new hands.
when the wind we have rode,
beckons for new friends.
and when the path that
leads to discovery,
needs a new body, a new soul.
when the battle for justice,
calls for new voices.
leaves turn brown and fall,
and winter snows come.
but spring always returns,
with new leaves and new song.
take what we have given,
and build an even bigger fire.
spread your wings, taste the sky,
past the limits of our endurance.
and when you get to the top
of the highest mountain…
the applause you hear
will be the ghosts of old poets.
shine on!
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its well-earned age
it must, needless to say
first be conceived
in perfect harmony
with all the whiskers
of a gray tradition.
You hesitate at first,
how could one take
and thoughtlessly consume
the vintage of a skin
so whithered in the storms
of what they call,
ah, shamefully, your life.
Is it not wise to just observe,
to have and hold for evermore,
what man has always sought
with constant, fretful longing?
As many die the death of time
they go into their doom without
the wisdom of what could have been,
partaking never of the mind.
It’s all it takes to share the fruit
you must however shake the hand
that feeds the emptiness in you.