for a long year

golden and warm in the december sun

this fading year will pass and be no more

we pause and take account of all that's done

since normal duty includes keeping score

what we must do is often clear and plain

to be repeated and done once again

our task unfinished this mild winter day

is not the simple message we convey

but something awesome born of nature's grace

seen not on mountain nor in ocean spray

the true redemption of the human race

we think we can escape that we can run

some massive distance from the starting door

and then be free but there's no means to shun

the things we are they're with us to the core

clear in the light and won't wash off in rain

that is the fact of our eternal stain

nor is there any word that we might say

to grant us ease nor even to delay

the fact of judgment the truth we must face

is not one we avoid in any way

the true redemption of the human race

the journey starts with us thinking it fun

but none believe that on the final shore

nor think of it in terms of lost and won

of those we love and those we now abhor

we speak of rivers that have found the main

of means by which we might a truth sustain

and understandings of the honest way

including moments that will never stay

but all that comes is part of the whole case

and from that knowledge no true soul will stray

the true redemption of the human race

prince none will wish our poor hopes to betray

and there's no unjust word that you could say

we have direction and we know our place

participants in nature's grand ballet

the true redemption of the human race

against fear or doubt

those who have vanished those gone up the spout

the scarperers last season's best reaping

were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

so total silence follows on the shout

clamping down hard on laughter and weeping

those who have vanished those gone up the spout

in teaching us just what to do without

and what exactly is worth safe-keeping

were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

but since they're gone we lack all redoubt

no place to which we can hurry creeping

those who have vanished those gone up the spout

simply precede us on the journey out

message and method both so sweeping

were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

now in the midst of this inhuman drought

we fade into the darkness while sleeping

those who have vanished those gone up the spout

were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

dark winter rain

despair embodied in dark winter rain

through fitful sleep in absence of all dream

to wake pursuing the first pallid gleam

within a world marked by the human stain

there's not one thing that's simple clear or plain

nothing that honest living might redeem

from what we suffer at the last extreme

paid for in horror and in stabbing pain

there's no deliverance from what we are

nor is it chosen freely in the sun

in a light-hearted moment with a smile

by each of us no favourable star

can serve to light our steps on homeward run

nor gleam and brighten on the final mile

the music of new light

we strain to hear the music of new light

within each heart to tell the truth of strain

as we rebuild the castle once again

on land of hope with chances maybe  slight

indifferent between horror and delight

in a swift race to beat the winter rain

and certain that the walls won't keep out pain

but may succeed at shelter from the night

our hope is simple out there in the cold

no one survives so if we can defend

against the dark some little may endure

to do all this we must stay sharp and bold

from the harsh start right to the tawdry end

for the one golden gift we can secure

at water's edge

none left behind except the final few

who dragging feet had given in to fear

and felt the cold now in the still dark air

there was no doubt but that each of them knew

no help would come not even what was due

since out beyond stood no one who would care

about such folk and none with heart to spare

for such as perish in cold morning dew

now liberation is the glory word

for when the yoke is taken off our backs

but that is not what happened on that night

the actual story’s complex and absurd

involving battles skirmishes and tax

with weeping loss of kindred truth and right

early chill

outside the winter storm is pelting down

with ancient power recalling us to true

vision of our places so then we rue

both the larger anger and the lesser frown

each gout of pressure under which we drown

unheeded here withheld from public view

still grasping for some force that would renew

each broken heart and smile at each sad clown

tonight we’re promised snow that will not stick

to the warm ground and ice that will not chill

for any length of time the naked skin

yet winter ‘s taking only the first lick

at these soft hides there’s still much room for ill

since we are in a race the clock must win

abandon panic

sleep  hides in dimmest corners of the night

refusing to reach out and hold us dear

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

like scars of whiteness injuring the sight

bringing so many distant horrors near

sleep hides in dimmest corners of the night

while on each eye some terror will alight

so waking mind can slowly shred and tear

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

thought after thought revolves upon harsh blight

and inner rack we’re thorough-cooked by fear

sleeps hides in dimmest corners of the night

options seem few and hope reduced to slight

expecting that the dawn might bring cool air

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

yet there are answers left to turn times right

repairing rest while giving breath to spare

sleep hides in dimmest corners of the night

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

fallen angles

where fallen angles now define true space

in steady motion of my dull dead blood

the quantity of which threatens to flood

beyond proper confine without such grace

as is expected in these times of mud

where fallen angles now define true space

our acts come under limits we can trace

out of the silence through each heavy thud

of closing vision as hope turns to dud

where fallen angles now define true space

the human occupation

in places known lacking all restriction

we lift our heads and arms extend their reach

whilst all the silent learn to practice speech

as sterling critics take honour from fiction

with truth resulting from the hard conviction

that since no one will give what we beseech

making reality out of all they teach

we must become our own true benediction

this is a world where silence means dissent

from standard syllogisms of bright command

yet we are bound to  stay within the mesh

of human intercourse of what is meant

by these creations of the head and hand

that come together in the mortal flesh

autumnal passage

in mild november every tree seems red

these maples blazing with unhidden fires

in briefest glory as the day expires

while winter is to come with heavy tread

but not just yet and while clouds overhead

cluster like doom the birds sit on the wires

and do not worry the winds may be liars

while changing seasons don't occasion dread

meanwhile we wonder at the changing scene

at who will be our neighbours and how plain

the day shall be with no leaves on the lawn

but nothing matters while the grass is green

and we have shelter from the chilling rain

with guarantee of sleep until the dawn