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With eyes closed against the bright light

With eyes closed against the bright light
of the new morning, shadows creep into my thoughts
shadows and longings to lost love
and the way that things were supposed to be
and I wonder why life has stripped you from me
and there are no answers that I see
in the blinding light of reality
and sometimes it feels like, looks like
as if even every ant, every insect has a destiny designed
and it feels as if the world
gives choices, that mornings comes with clarity
but for me
who keeps struggling on
as if stuck in the labyrinth of destiny.

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Fighting To Struggle Against The Grain

We all must come to learn,
We will and can make adjustments.
And not perceive ourselves,
As incredible creations incapable of listening.
Especially to messages delivered to us,
By those we deem unqualified...
And not having established credentials to bring them.

There is a reason why,
We can all identify the hearing of birds chirping.
There is a reason why,
We can all smell the scents...
From different flowers that bloom.
There is a reason why,
The Sun is where it is...
With a moon orbiting a spinning Earth.
Sitting where it is to benefit from this.
There are reasons why these 'mysteries' applied,
Before our eyes...
Remain as they are to be specific.

And 'if' anyone believes they are NOT here existing,
As a result of this...
To do as they wish with another agenda on their list,
Well...
They will follow anything to believe,
That the doing what they please has been ordained.
Like many who are caught up,
Fighting to struggle against the grain.

Even when the rain has come to fall to leave,
Nothing survives without its nourishment.
Regardless of implementing divisions and religious beliefs.
Even when the rain has come to fall to leave,
Nothing survives without it falling down from the sky.
Why?
Because everything we are,
Plays a part in being a piece of the whole.

And...
Fighting to struggle against the grain,
Is not going to change it.

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Are You Gonna Be There

If I was down
Would your arms lift me up to higher ground
With just the strength of your love
When I was lost
Would I find something in your eyes to lead me home

And if it all went wrong
Would you be there to hold
It's easy to be there through the good times
But when the times get hard
Would you stay or walk away

Chorus:
Are you gonna be there when the rain comes
Are you gonna be there with the water
Can you say you'll be there with the river
Are you gonna be there
Will you stand by my side through the bad times
Through whatever we'll be will you still be mine
Will you stay in my life for a lifetime
Are you gonna be there

When I need someone to hold
Someone there for me
Are you gonna be there

In all my world
If it should all fall down
Will you be there
Be there to turn it around
Will you still care
Can I depend on you to see me through this life
If it all goes wrong
Will you still make it right

It's easy to be there through the good times
But when the times get hard
Will you still be on my side

Chorus

When I need someone beside me
Someone there for me
Are you gonna be
There with the arms to hold me
There with the love I need
Then will you be there
Will you be there
Heart and soul
I need to know

Are you gonna be there
Are you gonna still care
(Are you gonna still care)
Are you gonna be there

Will you stand by my side
(Stand by my side)
Are you gonna be mine
Are you gonna be there
(Are you gonna be there)

Chorus (2x)

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There Are Walls There Are Ceilings

there are wall here and there are ears who listen so well
and eyes who see too clearly
you,
there are ceilings too
there are limits to what you can do
there are floors
between
you
now the cup has overflowed the dams break out
a flood
will cover you, the floor meets the ceiling and you are sandwiched
like a witch,

see..how you crumple?

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There Are Many of Us Who Wish to Thank You

Under the current conditions of...
Premedicated fabrication.
With a representation of all that's insane!
I'd like to make this toast,
To those who live in absolute normalcy...
Wherever you remain in hiding!

Stay!
But hopefully not too much longer.

Your presence has already been missed!
And when and if you ever decide to emerge,
Again to face the ignorance that had dismissed you.
Know this...
There are many of us who wish to thank you.
Your resistance to put up with nonsense,
Has proven your endurance and courage.

And I'd like to raise this toast,
In gratitude.

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Pidgin English

Theres a young girl with her old man whos too sick to mention
Shell be turning twenty seven as she draws her widows pension
But he couldnt catch a common cold he couldnt get arrested
Too terrified to answer back
Too tired to have resisted
Many hands make light work
Shorthand makes life easy
When hes out on night work
Make sure no one sees me
It all ends up in a slanging match with body talk and bruises
A change is better than a rest
Silly beggars cant be choosers
One of a thousand pities you cant categorize
There are ten commandments of love
When will you realise
There are ten commandments of love
I believe, I trust, I promise, I wish loves just a throwaway kiss
In this pidgin english
If youre so wise use your lips and your eyes
Take it to the bridge she sighs
You go cheep cheep cheep between bulleyes and bluster
Stiff as your poker face
Keener than mustard
From your own back yard to the land of exotica
From the truth society to neurotic erotica
Silence is golden
Money talks diamonds and ermine
Theres a word in spanish
Italian and german
In sign language, morse code, semaphore and gibberish
Have you forgotten how to say it
In your pidgin english?
(chorus)
Ps I love you

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There Are People Around Me

There Are People Around Me
But I don't hear them
I just keep walking, Like no ones there,
There's music playing,
Inside me head
And I listen.
While I stare,
But I don't see.
I just keep listening
To the music peacefully,
There's no noise,
But the flowing notes,
Peacefully moving,
Together we roam.
The melody and I,
We walk hand in hand,
Floating together,
With no exact plan,
We just keep flying,
Beat by beat
Two,
But one together
We sing in harmony

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On a Sunday Morning Sidewalk

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
in a brief, refreshing, rain
I awaken, quite hung over,
My eyes closed against the pain.

The fresh mowed grass of someone's lawn
Damp with the morning dew
Reminds the brain cells I have left
that last night I downed a few.

A dark figure now looms over me-
Is it there to damn or save?
No it's just the barkeeps Labrador
as he gives my face a lave.

I was nearly frightened sober -
And I was still drunk with Grog-
I'd prefer a friendly Saint Bernard
bringing a 'hair of the dog.'

The Labrador looked down on me,
a sodden drunken mess.
In my wife's eyes I would never find
That canines kind forgiveness..

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Healing Friendship

When the night has come
when the sun has gone

when the rippling river stops
when there are no more rain drops

When the mountain falls down
when you lose your crown

When there is a big black cloud
when the voices are too loud

When the bridge breaks through
when left only me and you

When its dark lacking light
when you're feeling a fright

When it becomes hard to survive
when you struggle to stay alive

When you’re abandoned by luck
when you feel like you’re stuck

When you wonder why life isn’t fair
when no one’s there


Ill be there for you to hold your hand and hold you tight
I’ll be there for you to show you the wrong from right
I’ll be there for you to comfort you from day until night
I’ll be there for you in the dark ill be your light

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Omar Epps

You want to live your own life, but when you have fame, there are certain things you can't get away with.

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I wonder

I wonder why
The creater is not here
And left his creation
In this condition.

Were is his mansion
I wonder
Why he has forgotten
To take steps
For manumission.

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We found that specialists did not know as much as we thought. So, you think maybe there are other answers. There are not but if you belief something will help you it probably will: it will help, not cure.

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Against The Odds

(the way of life that must change)
In the court of kings I look around
My blood runs cold, I close my eyes
Out of my head a vision flows
Ill make the rules I need
For my survival, for my survival
I pull the strings, you take the glory
I load the gun, you shoot me down
Im on the edge about to fall
Destructive power will make you
Lose your mind, use your mind
Trapped inside my nightmare
You are there
As I turn I feel your evil stare
We give our life, invest in time
To only fools who take controll
I spend another cold day in hell
Against the odds I fight
For my survival, for my survival
Your useless life gets crushed
Into the ground
The time has come
To turn it all around

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Me And You (Against The World)

(words and music by Joe Jackson)
If I could be two places at one time
I'd be with you
I've lost my heart I'm losing half my mind
But I don't care
Don't tell me don't ask me don't talk at all
Don't help me I don't know if I can stand
The bitter-sweetness of it all
I don't know don't care don't even hear
What they all say
There's no past there's no future and no fear
What can they do
I'm helpless I can't talk or even stand
My heart won't start until I get from you
The look that says you love me too
Me and you against the world
I've read the Bible and those books at school
But they don't make much sense of this
The finest minds are calling me a fool
But you destroy them with your kiss
Just one kiss
(C) 1989 by Pokazuka Ltd. Administered in the U.S. and Canada
by Almo Music Corp. (ASCAP)

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The Rain Platter Against The Closed Window

The rain platter against the closed window,
lightning bolts flame down in sheer blue-white light
and outside everything flees before the storm
as if it’s a kind of gigantic beast growling.

I have not know a person like you,
who likes to dance in the pouring rain,
as if you want to touch the sheer thunder
that comes powerful like the voice of God.

You cling to me with your wet rain washed clothes
with the smell of your twisted damp hair,
with the heat of your body glowing through
the covering, with a deep need for togetherness

with a intimate thing in every single kiss,
tasting like honey and ripe fruit
and in the depths of your eyes there is happiness
while my poems, my words fall like rain on you

and in the morning I will pick fresh flowers,
arms full of grass carnations,
sweet smelling jasmine, some roses
and many, many more bunches of kisses.

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The Labyrinth Wild It Leads You

The labyrinth wild it leads you
Towards the smile that feeds you
The woodman wild in a shaman’s frenzy
Spent the night below the sea.


Out of the blue, through blood shot eyes
The birds of morning’s song have risen
And still I have not known the realm of sleep,
Still I am keeping watchful eyes upon the moment in descent,
Scouring the boundaries of my vision with sour yet soulful detachment
From the world outside at war, raging upon itself.

I can hear music upon the air,
Small vibrations from another world
The Faint echoes of dying stars
Susurrus murmurings within ancient forests

The gods of scented nightmares are calling me a small boy.
Fate is calling me her toy.

Lost and frozen within the moment
Stood alone before the phoenix rising

What am I to do?

I can see upon the horizon a goddess blue
Beckoning with open arms a world entwining you.

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Objects In The Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are

Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are
The skies were pure and the fields were green
And the sun was brighter than its ever been
When I grew up with my best friend kenny
We were close as any brothers than you ever knew
It was always summer and the future called
We were ready for adventures and we wanted them all
And there was so much left to dream and so much time to make it real
But I can still recall the sting of all the tears when he was gone
They said he crashed and burned
I know Ill never learn why any boy should die so young
We were racing, we were soldiers of fortune
We got in trouble but we sure got around
There are times I think I see him peeling out of the dark
I think hes right behind me now and hes gaining ground
But it was long ago and it was far away, oh God it seems so very far
And if life is just a highway, then the soul is just a car
And objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are
And when the sun descended and the night arose
I heard my father cursing everyone he knows
He was dangerous and drunk and defeated
And corroded by failure and envy and hate
There were endless winters and the dreams would freeze
Nowhere to hide and no leaves on the trees
And my fathers eyes were blank as he hit me again and again and again
I know I still believe hed never let me leave, I had to run away alone
So many threats and fears, so many wasted years before my life became
My own
And though the nightmares should be over
Some of the terrors are still intact
Ill hear that ugly coarse and violent voice
And then he grabs me from behind and then he pulls me back
There was a beauty living on the edge of town
And she always put the top up and the hammer down
And she taught me everything Ill ever know
About the mystery and the muscle of love
The stars would glimmer and the moon would glow
Im in the back seat with my julie like a romeo
And the signs along the highway all said, caution! kids at play!
Those were the rights of spring and we did everything
There was salvation every night
We got our dreams reborn and our upholstery torn
But everything we tried was right
She used her body just like a bandage
She used my body just like a wound
Ill probably never know where she disappeared
But I can see her rising up out of the back seat now
Just like an angel rising up from a tomb
And objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are
She used her body just like a bandage
She used my body just like a wound
Ill probably never know where she disappeared
But I can see her rising up out of the back seat now

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Four Against the Shapeless Wind

for Selin

1

You may find me thundering in a hut
on the small of the mountain reading
poems to curious goats. They listen
patiently before eating the paper
upon which they are written.

I have now resorted, denying loneliness
(thus the always hovering goats) ,
to arguing with the sad priest twice
a week over bad sherry transported
over the mountain. The pass's old Rock
comments on the shape and weight of
each bottle carefully wrapped in soft
flannel curved the shape of the way
upon which unsteady travelers depart
and return. From such a journey it
is believed the cheap, sweet sherry
is redeemed in taste borne to the priest's
back door into his shaking hands casting
into legion swine divinations of sorrow.

As a grace, after some cups, setting aside
the card deck missing all Hearts, I hear
his confession, soul bared tearfully before
me. Pen in hand, I write sins tenderly down
on a yellowed page to be fed to atoning goats
who keep secrets well. They freely forgive
all faults for a taste of paper, a kind favor
for the priest then.

Only ink, the accusing words by drool undone,
stains their bearded chins.

Alone in the empty church I hover before
Stations of the Cross confessing poems
to believing dust, to patient corners.

How utterly and always irrelevant I have been.

2

In variations of weather and seasons
devoted dust shouts,

'Cousin! Cousin!
Come! Join us here.
Even now you succumb to us
slowly rolling beneath trembling
altars, fearful of candles,
an old woman's mop.

You are quieted as are we though we now
shout. Your presence provokes us toward
proclamations, manifestos against the
shapeless wind. But shapeless we remain.

At the Master's feet wounds, now bled
away to splinters, forget an ancient tree
in a carver's hand an ocean, an age, a god away.'

3

Torn feet tred a hard trail yet.

Without tongue, in the broken tower,
the recluse spider shapes its uniform prayer.

Unburdened, I depart, passing
old graves.

Dear friends the village dogs, thin,
thin.

Before my pine door -

a stooped body like these wooden
planks

more knots than wood -

a stranger pants in tongues
poems he shall never write but
only feel breath by breath

a visitor, long overstayed

remote neighbors are gracious still

pulling words from ears, he hurls them away

4

...a
broken
gate
One blind dog sleeps
curled

Indifferent before all machinery
it moves only, curiously,
before burros gray,
their large eyes wet, shining

the cooler shade and fields of hay
hang upon
the long lashes

A redundant whip in a whipped boy's hand
loudly cracks

Sway backs are unburdened by little cries
which simpler crickets take to heart,
their singing legs suddenly still to sighs


This makes absolute sense
in some discreet window of
the world where Meaning knits
then unknits what is

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The Man Against the Sky

Between me and the sunset, like a dome
Against the glory of a world on fire,
Now burned a sudden hill,
Bleak, round, and high, by flame-lit height made higher,
With nothing on it for the flame to kill
Save one who moved and was alone up there
To loom before the chaos and the glare
As if he were the last god going home
Unto his last desire.

Dark, marvelous, and inscrutable he moved on
Till down the fiery distance he was gone,
Like one of those eternal, remote things
That range across a man’s imaginings
When a sure music fills him and he knows
What he may say thereafter to few men,—
The touch of ages having wrought
An echo and a glimpse of what he thought
A phantom or a legend until then;
For whether lighted over ways that save,
Or lured from all repose,
If he go on too far to find a grave,
Mostly alone he goes.

Even he, who stood where I had found him,
On high with fire all round him,
Who moved along the molten west,
And over the round hill’s crest
That seemed half ready with him to go down,
Flame-bitten and flame-cleft,
As if there were to be no last thing left
Of a nameless unimaginable town,—
Even he who climbed and vanished may have taken
Down to the perils of a depth not known,
From death defended though by men forsaken,
The bread that every man must eat alone;
He may have walked while others hardly dared
Look on to see him stand where many fell;
And upward out of that, as out of hell,
He may have sung and striven
To mount where more of him shall yet be given,
Bereft of all retreat,
To sevenfold heat,—
As on a day when three in Dura shared
The furnace, and were spared
For glory by that king of Babylon
Who made himself so great that God, who heard,
Covered him with long feathers, like a bird.

Again, he may have gone down easily,
By comfortable altitudes, and found,
As always, underneath him solid ground
Whereon to be sufficient and to stand
Possessed already of the promised land,
Far stretched and fair to see:
A good sight, verily,
And one to make the eyes of her who bore him
Shine glad with hidden tears.
Why question of his ease of who before him,
In one place or another where they left
Their names as far behind them as their bones,
And yet by dint of slaughter toil and theft,
And shrewdly sharpened stones,
Carved hard the way for his ascendency
Through deserts of lost years?
Why trouble him now who sees and hears
No more than what his innocence requires,
And therefore to no other height aspires
Than one at which he neither quails nor tires?
He may do more by seeing what he sees
Than others eager for iniquities;
He may, by seeing all things for the best,
Incite futurity to do the rest.

Or with an even likelihood,
He may have met with atrabilious eyes
The fires of time on equal terms and passed
Indifferently down, until at last
His only kind of grandeur would have been,
Apparently, in being seen.
He may have had for evil or for good
No argument; he may have had no care
For what without himself went anywhere
To failure or to glory, and least of all
For such a stale, flamboyant miracle;
He may have been the prophet of an art
Immovable to old idolatries;
He may have been a player without a part,
Annoyed that even the sun should have the skies
For such a flaming way to advertise;
He may have been a painter sick at heart
With Nature’s toiling for a new surprise;
He may have been a cynic, who now, for all
Of anything divine that his effete
Negation may have tasted,
Saw truth in his own image, rather small,
Forbore to fever the ephemeral,
Found any barren height a good retreat
From any swarming street,
And in the sun saw power superbly wasted;
And when the primitive old-fashioned stars
Came out again to shine on joys and wars
More primitive, and all arrayed for doom,
He may have proved a world a sorry thing
In his imagining,
And life a lighted highway to the tomb.

Or, mounting with infirm unsearching tread,
His hopes to chaos led,
He may have stumbled up there from the past,
And with an aching strangeness viewed the last
Abysmal conflagration of his dreams,—
A flame where nothing seems
To burn but flame itself, by nothing fed;
And while it all went out,
Not even the faint anodyne of doubt
May then have eased a painful going down
From pictured heights of power and lost renown,
Revealed at length to his outlived endeavor
Remote and unapproachable forever;
And at his heart there may have gnawed
Sick memories of a dead faith foiled and flawed
And long dishonored by the living death
Assigned alike by chance
To brutes and hierophants;
And anguish fallen on those he loved around him
May once have dealt the last blow to confound him,
And so have left him as death leaves a child,
Who sees it all too near;
And he who knows no young way to forget
May struggle to the tomb unreconciled.
Whatever suns may rise or set
There may be nothing kinder for him here
Than shafts and agonies;
And under these
He may cry out and stay on horribly;
Or, seeing in death too small a thing to fear,
He may go forward like a stoic Roman
Where pangs and terrors in his pathway lie,—
Or, seizing the swift logic of a woman,
Curse God and die.

Or maybe there, like many another one
Who might have stood aloft and looked ahead,
Black-drawn against wild red,
He may have built, unawed by fiery gules
That in him no commotion stirred,
A living reason out of molecules
Why molecules occurred,
And one for smiling when he might have sighed
Had he seen far enough,
And in the same inevitable stuff
Discovered an odd reason too for pride
In being what he must have been by laws
Infrangible and for no kind of cause.
Deterred by no confusion or surprise
He may have seen with his mechanic eyes
A world without a meaning, and had room,
Alone amid magnificence and doom,
To build himself an airy monument
That should, or fail him in his vague intent,
Outlast an accidental universe—
To call it nothing worse—
Or, by the burrowing guile
Of Time disintegrated and effaced,
Like once-remembered mighty trees go down
To ruin, of which by man may now be traced
No part sufficient even to be rotten,
And in the book of things that are forgotten
Is entered as a thing not quite worth while.
He may have been so great
That satraps would have shivered at his frown,
And all he prized alive may rule a state
No larger than a grave that holds a clown;
He may have been a master of his fate,
And of his atoms,—ready as another
In his emergence to exonerate
His father and his mother;
He may have been a captain of a host,
Self-eloquent and ripe for prodigies,
Doomed here to swell by dangerous degrees,
And then give up the ghost.
Nahum’s great grasshoppers were such as these,
Sun-scattered and soon lost.

Whatever the dark road he may have taken,
This man who stood on high
And faced alone the sky,
Whatever drove or lured or guided him,—
A vision answering a faith unshaken,
An easy trust assumed of easy trials,
A sick negation born of weak denials,
A crazed abhorrence of an old condition,
A blind attendance on a brief ambition,—
Whatever stayed him or derided him,
His way was even as ours;
And we, with all our wounds and all our powers,
Must each await alone at his own height
Another darkness or another light;
And there, of our poor self dominion reft,
If inference and reason shun
Hell, Heaven, and Oblivion,
May thwarted will (perforce precarious,
But for our conservation better thus)
Have no misgiving left
Of doing yet what here we leave undone?
Or if unto the last of these we cleave,
Believing or protesting we believe
In such an idle and ephemeral
Florescence of the diabolical,—
If, robbed of two fond old enormities,
Our being had no onward auguries,
What then were this great love of ours to say
For launching other lives to voyage again
A little farther into time and pain,
A little faster in a futile chase
For a kingdom and a power and a Race
That would have still in sight
A manifest end of ashes and eternal night?
Is this the music of the toys we shake
So loud,—as if there might be no mistake
Somewhere in our indomitable will?
Are we no greater than the noise we make
Along one blind atomic pilgrimage
Whereon by crass chance billeted we go
Because our brains and bones and cartilage
Will have it so?
If this we say, then let us all be still
About our share in it, and live and die
More quietly thereby.

Where was he going, this man against the sky?
You know not, nor do I.
But this we know, if we know anything:
That we may laugh and fight and sing
And of our transience here make offering
To an orient Word that will not be erased,
Or, save in incommunicable gleams
Too permanent for dreams,
Be found or known.
No tonic and ambitious irritant
Of increase or of want
Has made an otherwise insensate waste
Of ages overthrown
A ruthless, veiled, implacable foretaste
Of other ages that are still to be
Depleted and rewarded variously
Because a few, by fate’s economy,
Shall seem to move the world the way it goes;
No soft evangel of equality,
Safe-cradled in a communal repose
That huddles into death and may at last
Be covered well with equatorial snows—
And all for what, the devil only knows—
Will aggregate an inkling to confirm
The credit of a sage or of a worm,
Or tell us why one man in five
Should have a care to stay alive
While in his heart he feels no violence
Laid on his humor and intelligence
When infant Science makes a pleasant face
And waves again that hollow toy, the Race;
No planetary trap where souls are wrought
For nothing but the sake of being caught
And sent again to nothing will attune
Itself to any key of any reason
Why man should hunger through another season
To find out why ’twere better late than soon
To go away and let the sun and moon
And all the silly stars illuminate
A place for creeping things,
And those that root and trumpet and have wings,
And herd and ruminate,
Or dive and flash and poise in rivers and seas,
Or by their loyal tails in lofty trees
Hang screeching lewd victorious derision
Of man’s immortal vision.
Shall we, because Eternity records
Too vast an answer for the time-born words
We spell, whereof so many are dead that once
In our capricious lexicons
Were so alive and final, hear no more
The Word itself, the living word
That none alive has ever heard
Or ever spelt,
And few have ever felt
Without the fears and old surrenderings
And terrors that began
When Death let fall a feather from his wings
And humbled the first man?
Because the weight of our humility,
Wherefrom we gain
A little wisdom and much pain,
Falls here too sore and there too tedious,
Are we in anguish or complacency,
Not looking far enough ahead
To see by what mad couriers we are led
Along the roads of the ridiculous,
To pity ourselves and laugh at faith
And while we curse life bear it?
And if we see the soul’s dead end in death,
Are we to fear it?
What folly is here that has not yet a name
Unless we say outright that we are liars?
What have we seen beyond our sunset fires
That lights again the way by which we came?
Why pay we such a price, and one we give
So clamoringly, for each racked empty day
That leads one more last human hope away,
As quiet fiends would lead past our crazed eyes
Our children to an unseen sacrifice?
If after all that we have lived and thought,
All comes to Nought,—
If there be nothing after Now,
And we be nothing anyhow,
And we know that,—why live?
’Twere sure but weaklings’ vain distress
To suffer dungeons where so many doors
Will open on the cold eternal shores
That look sheer down
To the dark tideless floods of Nothingness
Where all who know may drown.

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Against the dark blue of irises the sky has but a pale hue (Persian quatrain)

(After C. Louis Leipoldt)

Against the dark blue of irises the sky has but a pale hue
in times of war blood flows to the earth as it is due
and the pain and suffering that sacrifice brings
is quite dim against that left by words that are untrue.

[Reference: "Teen die blou van jakarandas is die blou van die lug maar bleek" (Against the blue of jacarandas the blue of the sky is bleak) by C. Louis Leipoldt.]

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I Know The Way That You Do Smile (Trijan Refrain)

I know the way that you do smile,
the crinkles of your lips,
how your golden eyes sparkle awhile,
the movement of your hips;
and we might have been together
might have really known each other
and we might have
and we might have
been gone away with another

I know the way that you do smile,
we are inseparable
as if walking together mile by mile
as if unbreakable
as friend to friend we do belong
through many years we are strong
as friend to friend,
as friend to friend
through years we had been all along

I know the way that you do smile,
as the years do move on
and not a single thing can beguile
our love till time is gone
as if our lives are somehow twin,
each newer life we do begin
as if our lives,
as if our lives
will somehow suddenly meddle in.

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