subjects of your talk

mark this for turn of hope or choice or chance

that when we rise our hearts to joy are turned

instead of knowing that our work had earned

such tiny wages but the real advance

we did not realize nor yet enhance

those ways in which the greater fires burned

but did not eat up all of those who yearned

to set their feet free in the happy dance

now we have given you our honest word

and you fall silent it is not enough

that you do nothing to prevent our walk

along the forest path where golden bird

is seen at sunset matters not so tough

must in the end be subjects of your talk

groupons nous

we can't escape the honest final fact

of what we are but knowledge of the when

evades our thought for women and for men

the whole affair requires a lot of tact

while ancient legions trooper and cataphract

do battle to control both hill and fen

while we are in the grip of thought again

having no choice but fearing still to act

all voyages must come at last to port

or end at the sea-bottom ever lost

those are the options and we cannot choose

the fate that we are given time is short

as we find out we have to pay the cost

of all delaying and we always lose

cross communication

all of our memories slip out through the net

fearsome grandmothers will not let us hide

the truth is bound up tightly with regret

when pain of living has us most upset

then we hear loudest voices that deride

all of  our memories slip out through the net

leaving behind just the fury and fret

the shouts of anger and the words that chide

the truth is bound up tightly with regret

no matter what the lie or epithet

effects of injury won't be denied

all of our memories slip out through the net

so we are trapped knowing we cannot let

our hearts be opened to the other side

the truth is bound up tightly with regret

for all we knew still the true course was set

from the beginning by our manic pride

all of our memories slip out through the net

the truth is bound up tightly with regret

no honest name

we do not get the choice to grow or fade

since each of us is placed just where we ought

to find the truth of all the things we're taught

which is much more that what life must abrade

with its rough edges we are ever frayed

broken and blinded knowing that we fought

both hard and well but losing were caught

in the old trap and sent back to the shade

so much to tell about where we were cast

the clawing upwards that's another fight

though none will listen to the loser's tale

nor should they we recall the faded past

while today's children look towards the light

and have no patience with the ones who fail

the meaning of the word

this is the truth that no one need be told

we do not go the same way that we came

the downhill path is not the very same

as the short tunnel out of the long cold

but journey's one for coward and for bold

with equal vision for the wild and tame

and one good reason that we guard the flame

from foolish youth until we are too old

the crooked timber frames a crooked world

still we would have no other and the best

is what we make since there is none above

to judge or burden so with flag unfurled

we must go forward to confront the test

our only certainty before is love

missing the answer

 missing the answer means that when the true

vision of justice fills this hungry mind

it is not understood i have turned blind

to what is obvious not known the due

reception of the gifts of midday blue

warm and attractive nothing left behind

to be cleaned up by the unfailing kind

while i accept the price for what is due

time makes no changes on its very own

except in the bland lies that old folk tell

to calm the foolish on their downward run

instead they  seek to gnaw upon cold stone

while listening for the distant warning bell

and for the sound of the last urgent gun

not worthy of their salt

each walks away from the last awful wreck

convinced that they at least were not at fault

in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

one had been certain but now what the heck

the blame is placed on pot or single malt

each walks away from the last awful wreck

a little more afraid daring to check

for signs of trauma not wanting to halt

in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

but silent refusing to note the beck

of anyone around in fear of assault

each walks away from the last awful wreck

stiffly uncertainly just like a mech

robotic being we would not exalt

in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

what's visible from up here on the deck

are shaken folk not worthy of their salt

each walks away from the last awful wreck

in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

then they say goodbye

being denizen of no place ready set

within the bounds of the sublunar realm

is nowise daunting the facts overwhelm

only the weaker minds instead each debt

incurred in course of duty or regret

is paid in full by shade of oak or elm

in memory of the old man with cracked helm

by one who can't resist that final bet

each night is sacrificed so that my rest

becomes a loss that's added to the pile

just one more line that goes into the jest

another little twist those are in style

the truth is always harder than the lie

that's what they tell us then they say goodbye

flowers have been cut

what choices for the poor or for the dead

in myth or legend amount to the same

decline of knowledge ending of the game

feasting on shadows and the ghost of bread

stale waters and the odours of the head

nought to the matter there is no more shame

where we have gone only the dirty flame

of penny passions when the nights are red

now dreadful options face us on each side

when we must turn toward the fallen night

with little hope that anything we say

could make a difference it's a thorny ride

where we'll be going and the sort of plight

we find ourselves in is not healed by day