the reader that i want i cannot know
they are not me that's true and clear
caught up in the complexity of flow
the reader that i want i cannot know
all such matters are i'm told just so
they fall between the speaker and the ear
the reader that i want i cannot know
they are not me that's true and clear
blinded by shadows i deplore the fact
that others may not read just what i write
my thought and theory are what they lacked
blinded by shadows i deplore the fact
the signal has now thoroughly been hacked
no messenger today remains in sight
blinded by shadows i deplore the fact
that others may not read just what i write
stories once told belong to the whole world
the author's just the one who found the tale
the flag of commonsense has been unfurled
stories once told belong to the whole world
the reader in their tiny corner curled
must give some merit to the tiny sale
stories once told belong to the whole world
the author's just the one who found the tale
at times i wonder just what thought requires
of those of us who have been paid to think
there's not a glow from those far-distant fires
at times i wonder just what thought requires
at day's end there's no sound of lutes or lyres
from no sure spring have i been taught to drink
at times i wonder just what thought requires
of those of us who have been paid to think
let this remain we've gone beyond the line
and seen more wonders than we might believe
too late we turn to laughter and to wine
let this remain we've gone beyond the line
for our old innocence we will not pine
those who would seek to keep it all deceive
let this remain we've gone beyond the line
and seen more wonders than we might believe
clouds do not let us see the noble sight
of light upon the darkly brilliant leaves
we can't claim any places by plain right
clouds do not let us see the noble sight
we will not be the victims of such fright
nor will we advertise that nature grieves
clouds do not let us see the noble sight
of light upon the darkly brilliant leaves
hope should rest lightly upon every heart
but that's the way of things under the sky
we watch the happy swallows swoop and dart
hope should rest lightly upon every heart
we leave the aftermath to complex art
we tell the truth in manner of a lie
hope should rest lightly upon every heart
but that's the way of things under the sky
what's true is more than we are ever told
the false comes better packaged every day
the world we know is always harsh and cold
what's true is more than we are ever told
the dullest brass will pass for brightest gold
the actors will seem better than the play
what's true is more than we are ever told
the false comes better packaged every day
reflect upon the truth that time's too short
and you will wonder at the scale of waste
enough to worry at expense of thought
reflect upon the truth that time's too short
your rivals will not win at this last court
they fail from scurry and excess of haste
reflect upon the truth that time's too short
and you will wonder at the scale of waste
Odd ravings, comments, and other wastes of time. Some are in plain prose, yet others are in rhyme.
07 June 2007
hurry up and wait
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3 comments:
The daily tide of your writings cannot always be allowed into my consciousness; its deep and rich and pulls me in. Sometimes I am afraid to let myself read for concern that I have not the space that day, emotionally or in time.
But the continuance of your writing is a constant; here whether I am or not.
Thank you, my dear lady.
Thank you, my dear lady.
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