Farmer's Wail
© 2010
There, in the past, was a Day:
Cloaked in the thick of Fog and Mold.
And just as Time composed a melody,
The Sun became blue and cold,
With Fog seizing the decay.
Then, in the past, was a Dusk:
Clung to the last rays of the Sun.
Farmers gathered remaining bits of corn,
Picking up each rotten cob, one by one,
While Darkness seized the last husk.
This, in the present, is a Night:
Blanketing the world with hurt.
But look down now, there, at the ground!
Fresh corn grows out of the moistened dirt,
As the Sun seizes the Moon's radial plight.
The Country
© 2010
Lies.
Dirt-paved roads.
Windmills.
Deceit.
Tumbleweeds.
Plateau-infested flatlands.
Betrayal.
Rotten power lines.
Broken barbed wire boxes.
Resentment.
Newly-planted seeds.
Cracked earth.
Pressure.
Beads of sweat.
Blinding sun.
Repentance.
Cold water.
Fresh clothes.
Forgiveness.
Clean air.
Cool breeze.
The Change.
Evenodd
© 2010
River rocks:
They skip along politely.
No rhyme or reason;
They just glide along delightfully.
And happiness
Is similar to river rocks:
It needs no reason now
To smile through a dark and gloomy day.
Butterflies:
They fly along so gently.
No rhyme or reason;
They just flutter complimentary.
Therefore sadness
Is similar to butterflies:
It needs no reason now
To flutter by the blessings of our lives.
If Man Is a Fool
© 2010
If man is a fool,
Then, babe, I must be the king;
Too ignorant to call my own bluff,
Too arrogant to say enough is enough,
But too modest to wear a royal crown:
If man is a fool.
If man is a slave,
Then, babe, I must be pushing stone;
Too proud to give myself in,
Too strong to let it win,
But too blind to see the hill is too high:
If man is a slave.
If man is a mistake,
Then, babe, I must be the worst misprint;
Too ignored to see my own worth,
Too apathetic to care about my own birth,
But too determined to find my purpose:
Since man is a fool.
No comments:
Post a Comment