The Blessed.
       - Paper Heroes - Great Expectations -
       - After the Fall - Prodigial Son -
       - Kings and Queens - Judicial Beneficials -

    The Dispossessed.
       - Death of a Child - Silence of the Damned -
       - From the Rainforest - Property of the Army -

    The Rest.
       - Blackened Lights - Grander Grandiose - 
       - Broken Promises - Burbia -
 
 THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE

    Past.
       - A Moment's Peace - Once a King -
       - Mocha Moses - The Wayfarer -

   Present.
       - Automatons - In Boxes - Eye in the Sky -
       - Social Repartee - Sweet Understanding -
       - The Executioner -
 

 INSIGNIFICA

    The Arts.
       - Shelfed - Sculpted Pure -
       - The Motion Picture Show - Novella -
       - The Weaver's Art - An Actor's Line -
       - Can't you hear the music dance? -

    Fantasy.
       - Excelsior - The Dark Horse -
       - Love is on the run - Terradactyl Wings -
       - Imagine Me - Mandragon - Sweet Dreams -

    Self-Concretion.
       - Centricity - The Haunting -
       - I cannot see me - Dippyserenity -
       - Me thinks too much -
       - The Roughest Road - True to You -

     Raindrops streak softly across the pages
       of a discarded newspaper in disarray
      blurring the faces of the paper heroes
        and the words of what they did today

     People of power,  people of fame,
       people on pedestals far higher than the sky,
      stars whom the real stars of space would envy
        if it were not so easy for them to fall and die

     Their descents too become headline news
       like comets plummeting from high above
      and all their pain and shame is public domain
        as well as who and how and where they love

     They are the ones who are warmed or burnt
       by their fleeting moments in the limelight,
      as soon their forced smiles and press releases
        will become tiresome and vanish from our sight

     Worn under foot,  the newspaper comes to rot
       in a back alley where the wind has lead the way
      for as yesterday's news becomes distorted and confused
        we care only for what they are telling us today

    Floundering in the failure of my anticipated
      good fortunes
     I cast my teary eyes upward desperately 
       attempting to comprehend
      As I have equated my identity with my
        ambitious aspirations
          I now find I have lost myself by my
            failure to succeed

    Was it that I took upon myself a task demanding
      more than I was capable of,
     I wonder as I search for myself among my
       shatter goals' debris
      Because success was a necessity for all that I
        planned to be or do
          I had never anticipated need to learn ways to
            accept my failure

    Where now from here,  am I doomed to split
      apart at the seams?
     Questions upon questions incessantly clamor up 
       from deep inside me
      Lacking any mental foundation left standing from
        which to build upon
          I feverishly throw myself into the cataclysmic 
            confusion within

    Torturing frustrations of inadequacies and unmet
      expectations
     slowly rise away and liberate me as I stand
       at death's door
      Sweet dreams and satisfaction pass in a fleeting instant
        as I plunge into the abyss

      Pity the ones who never fell
        who never felt the stinging
          of cold hard reality smashing their faces
        Their sense of life would be flawed
          and their educations incomplete
            for never achieving that success we call failure

      All of life is always a struggle
        though our endless capacities
          can complete the most arduous tasks with ease
        We want to climb the infinite mountain
          but each setback only cautions us,
            saving us from the greater falls ahead

      Imperfect is the antique not tarnished,
        fated is the glass not yet cracked,
          and brittle is the spirit yet to be broken
        Misfortune and growth are not companions
          nor are they even similar,
            they are but one and the same

  All hail the prodigal son,
    the one who can succeed with ease
      at tasks others thought could not be done

  In his wake nerves are calmed,
    the lame gain strength and the aimless find dreams
      as the air seems alive with his ever lingering song

  Everyone is hoping that he is the one
    who has the power to save us from ourselves
      and raise our sights from the earth below up to the sun

  The feelings he inspires take root within us
    as seeds sown from an invisible yet common wind
      which blows so often it ceases to cause us to wonder

  His abilities and good wishes are second to none
    yet there is nothing in his manner that could seem aloof
      and he speaks as though each thing is everything in one

  On him the sun shall rise and shall set
    as it will upon us and everyone else in our time
      but as he lives it shall seem brighter and sweeter ever yet

       "God save the King,"  they cry
         but let Him save some mercy for us
        Let us hope he keeps our lives free
          of the pain and the misery we make just

       Kings and queens are ornamental,
         like jewelry and clothes,  they show our vanity
        They decorate our walls and mantels
          displaying our hopes for a more regal humanity

       It is we the commoners who are royal
         for we are free of their pompous positions
        We succeed or fail without help or hindrance
          from the curious' endless inquisitions

       We earn our praise and our livelihoods
         for only life itself is our birthright
        We prosper in accordance with our capacities
          and often keep this ground in our sight

       So let the royals survive in their vacuum
         created by the aspirations of the common man
        We shall live life in the real world
          sharing hardship and death's painful brand
 

      Prodigious and legitious lawyers like sawyers
        put our lives on trial
       For erstwhile ends they make us defend
         the value of a smile

      They'll put a price on your head if you drop dead
        and exaggerate and exacerbate grief
       For dramatic effect,  the pain they resurrect
         while twisting the truth beyond belief

      With miles of red tape,  no once can escape
        the reaches of their reign
       There's no give and take in the legal world they make
         without more of them to do the same

      They help to define your state of mind
        and they also judge who's sane
       They judge how life looks through big foreign books
         ignorance of which they disdain

      In a world so large someone took charge
        and their heirs lead the way
       From their specialized schools just to make rules,
         they bought the law and make us pay

       A child died quietly in the hollow of the night
        A child died naturally though it cannot be right
         The child's illness was one which could easily be cured
          The child's silent aspirations now shall never be heard

       Accomplices were they who did not know of his plight
        Accomplices were they who knew but averted their sight
         Defiled are they who thought helping strangers an impropriety
          Defiled are they who honor such an insane society

       Over and over again this story shall be told
        Over and over again they shall die as we grow old
         Each time this happens we lose more of our worth
          Each time this happens we blacken the legacy of Earth

    Caught in a violent stranglehold
      between intolerable injustice and death,
     the entire race of a nation
       stands united rattling the chains
      of their slavery
        before the ears of a world
       hungry for the drama inspired
         by tragedy

    As pleas for compassion ring out,
      the viselike grip tightens even further
     seeking to permanently silence
       the muted cry of the human spirit
      helplessly caught
        in a web of prejudice and greed
       as the powerful slowly devour
         their paralyzed prey

    With their tongues severed
      their bodies are also stolen from them
     and made to serve their oppressors
       by forging them the very tools needed
      to rule
        while quietly contemplating
       how to rise up and vanquish
         the enslavers

     Deep within the vibrant green forests
       shadows of the past still breathe
      The ancient ones of an innocent age
        still define what it means to live free

     The people of the forest celebrate life
       as it was and perhaps as it should be
      Their cultures are a testament to beauty
        unadorned and content in simplicity

     Without our sanctimonious garbs
       of moral condemnation and commiseration,
      they more than we should be able to judge
        the value of life and its necessitations

     Unspoiled and devoid of our social virulence,
       one may forget whether the are behind or ahead
      for as we endeavor to reach for the stars
        it is unclear why we don't seek their peace instead

     But our metal monsters will prevail
       and flush them from their garden sanctuary
      We shall suffer no more by comparison
        as we take them and make them more like we

     As more and more cultures wither and die
       christian prayers will at last come true
      All the Earth will share the faith of despair
        and industrial blight will always be within view

       Property of the Army,  that is what we are
         for their bullets mercilessly cut us down
           whenever our protests go too far

       Property of the Army,  they've bought our very lives
         by selling us their brand of perpetual fear
           while profiting under a different guise

       Property of the Army,  they've declared war on us
         the populace from within their own borders
           doing what they wish,  telling us they must

       Property of the Army,  we struggle to stay alive
         and as they bleed our country dry,  they tell us
           that without them we could not survive

       Property of the Army,  that is all we will be
         for as they openly murder all opposition
           they cripple our hopes to be free

          For the lovers of life and truth
            bound to live out lives of lies 
           I give to you my sympathy
             and I cry beneath my own disguise
            for I know the pain and sufferance
              and the burdens we must bear
             when we are forced to lessen our light
               before the face of others who cannot care

          Our dignity and the hopes of ages
            die violently mired in disgrace
           when we are made to walk through life
             showing only a cold and indifferent face,
            not letting our outrage at injustices show
              for fears of being branded a rebel
             and having our passionate pleas for love
               be scorned as misguided and criminal

          Oh,  how the promise of life suffers
            when the empathy of Man reaches an eclipse
           and simple charity becomes optional at best
             as the standard for judgment shifts
            to the right of the hearts own light
              plummeting our dreams toward the cruel ground
             and plunging our world into another cold night

   The more I travel,  the more I become convinced
     that the soul of humanity has long gone comatose
    for as the billions of poor struggle to survive
      each country's capital vies for grander grandiose

   Bigger and more opulent buildings and monuments
     still reflect the true meaning of the pyramids,
    wondrous marvels build for the pride of nations
      and paid for with the blood of men,  women,  and kids

   Funding for these aberrational towers of vanity
     comes at the expense of those who need it the most,
    the ones whose voices cannot be heard by the officials
      who seek to make their marks ones that eternally boast

   Countries facing massive starvation and drought
     always seem to find the resources to build new halls
    for the efficiency experts to be able to debate
      where the money will come from to pay for it all

   It is the way of Man not to do all that he can
     and that is mirrored by his larger sovereign states
    which take taxes meant to serve the common good
      and spend them on the excesses indulgence creates

    Another chance to help someone passes by
      followed by a vague ambiguous vow
     that one day soon things will change
       and you'll have the time to make a difference
      but that day never seems to come
        as the sand through the hour glass runs
       piling high broken promises upon our incompetence

    We feel the momentum of our lives
      does not permit back pedaling when wrong
     so too often we continue on paths
       which we know can only lead to misery
      yet we stubbornly stay the course,
        alter the appraisal of our daily discourse,
       and lie to ourselves so often we can no longer see

    Too often we replace actions with words,
      so often we can even come to believe
     that they are not mere pacifications
       which allow us to continue unabated
      by the circumstances pressing on us
        to make ourselves a little more just,
       ignoring them until eternity itself becomes inundated

       I live out in the outer suburbs
         among astroturf lawns and marble curbs
        All the streets and houses look the same
          only distinguishable by their different names

       My house is a cube,  to tell the truth,
         a simple square with a V-shaped roof
        There is six rooms and two baths in all,
          and one room even has wood-grained walls

       My car is a Japanese compact of course
         but I'm saving up to one day afford a Porsche
        The look so hot and they drive so good,
          and there's only six in my neighborhood

       I work in Manhattan and I've  got my own desk
         although it is indifferent than all of the rest
        I do all the accounts receivable and more
          for a major brand name department store

       My wife Julia sometimes sells real estate
         so we can buy a summer cottage on the Cape
        She's pretty but plain though I don't care
          'cause when I get bored I just have an affair

       It's a dull but comfortable life I'll admit
         though any life seems unexciting as you live it
        Excitement is a thing of movies and dreams
          as reality gives it the ways and the means
            to make it as special as it seems

      In the dim afterglow of a fiery sunset
        a small child sits quietly on a sandy beach
       staring at the last traces of warm colors
         to reflect off the water's static surface

      The light fades to a dim hazy blanket
        settling comfortably down upon the horizon
       and the patient watcher of celestial events
         counts the stars as they suddenly appear

      A slight onshore breeze begins to stir
        bringing the youngster relief from the humid air,
       thick with the sticky feel of salty moisture
         that comes with the burning days of August

      As the nights coolness envelops the shore,
        the tired child slowly begins the trek home
       trying hard to savor the last days of summer
         and vowing to stay at peace in a frantic world

     "I am King!",  I bellow until the sound echoes
       off the somber castle walls
      Filled to the brim with wine and self-adoneration
        I stumble away in search of a bed

     The music of lutes plays somewhere off
       beyond my blurred candle lit vision
      Behind the merriment and muse lie the whispered treasons
        of the endless plotting for my throne

     Surrounded by guards,  I pause to relieve myself
       of the evenings excessive liquids
      Quickly the dampness, cold like death, encompasses
        every pore of my regal being

     In a cathedral-sized room covered with fine tapestries
       I pass out upon a silken bed
      Soon however,  I am abruptly awakened
        by the feel of cold steel on my brow

     Alone and in a drunken stupor I face my opponent
       knowing full well the futility of a plea
      Young and foolish,  and every bit as arrogant as me
        he savors the taste of the kill

     In an act of desperation I grab at his knife
       but then it is free,  then in my stomach
      As I lay helplessly dying within my fortress
        I know security is but a dream

     Mocha Moses,  lay me down the law
       and help the Lord set my soul free
      Mocha Moses,  tell me what you saw
        when you looked at that burnin' tree

     Save the child running wild
       down in the ghetto's streets
      Raise him above with God's love
        and those saintly words you preach

     Mocha Moses,  show us the promised land
       so we may never doubt it again
      Mocha Moses,  teach us as much as you can,
        teach us to give and to bend

     You are the spark in the dark
       giving us the fire we need
      Skin like coal over a shining soul,
        blessed be the heart that bleeds

    Torn and tattered were his clothes
      and his face,  like a well worn overgrown trail,
     inspired polite respect with a twinge of fear
       in the people whom he passed as his soul set sail
      to find some wondrous place to finally rest
        and upon that day he felt it drawing ever near

    It was the fourteenth day of December
      when his feet first carried him into the town
     where he would meet the strangest of fates
       and revel in the wake of the unseen forces that abound
      between the reality of day and the darkness of night
        which draw one unknowingly into the eeriest of states

    In a little old inn on the edge of town
      the wayfarer stopped for warmth and a drink
     but this was no ordinary inn as he soon found out
       for the innkeeper had devious eyes which would wink
      whenever the wayfarer thought something was strange
        and the walls themselves seemed to scream or shout

    Intrigued by the strangeness of the place
      the daring traveler decided to stay the night
     but after making a quick check of his room
       his eyes caught flash of a hideous sight
      of a wolf standing bloodied over a mutilated body
        and when the brief vision ended, he felt impending doom

    Hurriedly,  he splashed his face wet 
      in a water basin at the end of the hall,
     his heart racing at the marvel he had seen
       driving him to take some action or to call
      for help from some sorcerer,  demon,  or god
        to help him vanquish this terrible dream

    Once again in the inn's tavern
      he instead chose food to regain his composition
     for he felt that he would need all his senses
       to do battle with the demonic apparition
      that lay waiting for him in his room
        yet also in some other world behind unseen fences

    He felt its presence even then
      as he ate in an attempt to gain strength,
     he felt it chiding to him to run while he could
       but he did not listen to it at any length,
      just long enough to know it was still there
        and that if it could destroy him it surely would

    The man at the bar let out a laugh
      that sounded as deranged as its meaning was unclear
      but before he left the room in a frenzied delight
        he had pointed to the wayfarer sitting demure
       and said nothing though the meaning was clear
         in that he was a fool for not feeling proper fright

    Alone in the room of the wolf
      he sat expectantly upon a wooden chair
     and with his gun at his side and knife in hand
       he waited for something or someone to be there
      but though the feeling grew ever more intense
        nothing appeared that he could see or understand

    Soon he began to grow tired
      yet the more that he gave into this tide
     the more invigorated he felt himself become
       until he lay wide awake on the other side
      where the wolf lay waiting in a field of green
        and the light of the moon was now the sun

    He stood up and gave chase to the wolf
      although he was no longer certain why
     for this world was certainly not like his own
       as it had orange plants and a bright pink sky
      and as he grew nearer to the fleeing wolf
        he realized it was unlike any he had known

    The ominous hatred and venomance
      which he had sensed back at the inn
     no longer was present in this strange new place
       though still he felt driven to purge this sin,
      this horrible abomination incarnate in the wolf
        seeming so near that he could sense its foul taste

    Then the wolf grew tired at last
      and turned to face the wayfarer's approach
     yet it did not show any sign of fear
       nor did it turn hostile when he drew close,
      instead it quietly awaited its impending fate
        as the hunter flung himself at it like a spear

    The wayfarer's confusion grew still
      when the wolf seemed to vanish in the air
     but the feelings still had hold of him
       and as he fled across the plains in despair
      he noticed that his body had disappeared
        while he ran within the wolf's own skin

    Over the next hill he came across a man
      whom he vaguely noticed was himself
     and as the man began to shudder back
       the man-wolf felt the fear rise in itself
      growing stronger until both were one
        at the moment its teeth gnashed open his neck

    Screaming,  the man was again in the room
      far too shaken to think of anything's meaning
     as he packed his things and hurried away
       into the darkness of that fateful evening
      when worlds collided for one man never known
        except for the footprints in the snow never shown

 Man or machine,  that is the question
   which remains to be seen
  Shielded by uniforms,  we lash out beating and killing
   those who are our own brethren
    as we convince ourselves we have given up all rights
     to question why

 We poison and maim,  all the while believing
   we are not to blame
  Behind desks and thick glass,  we protect our jobs
   by following mindless regulations
    often hearing pleas from those that they destroy,
     sympathizing yet never helping

 Part of the system,  we fail to rise above the limits
   of its questionable wisdom
  Filling the functions of some prepackaged lives
   we lose sight of needed changes
    and by identifying ourselves with socially programmed desires,
     we become something less than human

  Celled intellectuals,  come heed my call
    to experience the myriad sensuousness
      that lies outside your timid walls
    Fools are we who try to rationalize
      the most vibrant aspects of our lives

  Boxes within boxes,  towering high in the sky
    seemingly aspiring to reach the fruits of freedom
      yet we enslave ourselves by wondering why
    Knowledge we are told,  will set us free
      and in its pursuit we are bound ever so blindly

  Higher and higher,  soon in flight we will be
    seeking after whimsy and better ways to provide
      the resources needed to fuel our endless impetus to see
    Carried by expectations of our own future's worth
      we will soon lose all feel for ourselves and our earth

  Locked in cubicles,  we live through our minds
    never pausing to feel the depth and breath of each moment
      never being where we are instead of far ahead or behind
    Bored with what we know,  we are committed to dream
      but thoughts void of feelings can never be what they mean

         Beware,  beware of the ultimate spy
           It's just a simple black box
             with an evil glass eye
          It takes to the highway,  it takes to the sky
            It sees and shows all
              passing no one and nothing by

         Once outside,  it can follow you around
           and if you try to hide
             it'll track you down
          Any mistake that you might make
            can be saved for posterity
              on some secret videotape

         Anything that you might say or do
           could one day wind up
             in the public's view
          As it watches,  the exact time it will mark
            keeping a constant vigil,
              even seeing in the dark

         It doesn't matter if you know or care
           because from this moment on 
             they will always be there
          With nowhere to run and no place to hide
            from the multitude of camera eyes
              accept the fact that privacy has died

     The verbal give and takes
       over the lives we make
      set the stage and 
        unflinchingly lead the way
       to uncover the reasons
         behind the change in seasons
        of social values which vaunt
          and then fade away

     It is said to converse
       is merely to rehearse
      and rehash old ideas
        long turning decrepit and gray
       but in every innovative night
         there is the occasional light
        which flashes briefly yet dies
          unnoticed before the light of day

     To attempt to profoundly speak
       even with words so old and meek
      is to seek out and embellish
        those shooting stars that never stay,
       which brilliantly will blaze
         before dying into the haze
        of the oceans of previous notions
          of hopes,  dreams,  and dismay

     Yet at every new turn
       there is the chance they or we can learn
      to harness the elusive power
        of insight which we cannot know of or say
       so in every speech that bores
         is a chance someone can open the door
        and find that new insight
          that might be possible only today

       A connection here makes a confection there
         of succulent sweet understanding
        A grand new scheme or a fool's dream
          breathes new life from old ideas banding

       From integration comes inspiration
         as the whole surmounts its parts
        A magical song known all along
          sings the completion of a thousand false starts

       Pieces of genius teaches us leanness
         as we strive to keep the feeling's child pure
        Yet innovation is age's creation
          reflecting prisms of hopes that never were

       A completion begets only a depletion
         of the striving forces we unchain
        Each new design of our states of mind
          is tentative and cannot remain

          The moment of truth appeared
            within the blink of an eye
           as I solemnly raised my gun
             before my quavering victim

          The Executioner of Justice
            is the name I chose long ago
           and that far off day gone by
             is suddenly thrust before my eyes

          Was it my passion for life
            or some perverse taste for death
           that made me love the work
             which came to dominate my life

          This kill will not come easy
            and this face before me
           shall not be quietly put to rest
             in my tortured silent nights

          This time I cannot believe
            that this tragedy is just
           and the innocent eyes before me
             reflect the truth of my task

          Countless times before I could have questioned
            but instead I chose to remain ignorant
           of the manipulations of the halls of justice
             that determine who shall live or die

          This time it was too blatant,
            an example to be made,
           a statement of brutal blindness
             to keep the rank and file in line

          Right and wrong are dissolving
            in my long inactive mind
           and the fresh wind that blows
             is filled with condemnation

          My hand begins to violently shake
            and the gun grows heavy within
           as if the weight of my deeds
             are now alive in my instrument of death

          An explosive turmoil erupts within
            as I am faced with countless questions
           of life and truth and fate and lies
             and of my own inevitable demise

          The forces ripping me apart are great
            but the solution is so near and easy
           and in an instant later it is over
             as the echoes of the shot die in the air

          My eyes grow dim and my heart heavy
            as I watch the body hit the floor
           and I convince myself I will survive
             the haunting truth my soul had seen

    Tomorrow's child is young,
      not yet breathing the stagnant air
     His heart has yet to beat
       and his eyes have yet to stare

    Though he has not yet begun
      that long road to defining himself,
     his future is being shaped
       by those who would rob his wealth

    They seek to tap his promise,
      tear apart his world to mend their own
     yet he is a force to be wary of
       far beyond that which any have known

    For them the bell will toll
      upon the eve of his imminent birth
     as he inherits all the universe
       and casts out those without worth

    But tomorrow's child too is mortal
      and will err if he chooses to lay a claim
     upon a world whose constant churning
       destroys those whom it cannot tame

    The boundaries between life and dreams
      have long fallen before humanity's eyes
     and their world has grown far beyond
       anything which we can conceptualize

    Limitless variations of time and space
      are all within reach of our posterity's minds
     and our entire history up to this date
       is but a tiny segment of what they can find

    Their consciousness' are free to roam
      among that realm which we call eternity
     growing immeasurably with each breath
       their almost insignificant bodies breathe

    Countless planets and civilizations
      have lives and views their minds have sought
     yet there is no need for recording them
       for they are there with merely a thought

    They can comprehend all the universe
      yet they realize the limits of their view
     because as wide as their horizons may seem
       their experience is only what they choose to do

      A minute pocket of existence
        hangs suspended in the infinite void
       Moving at speeds unimaginable to us,
         its motion is dwarfed
        by the sheer majesticness
          of limitless horizons

      These beings which inhabit
        this metal-coated gas bubble
       cast adrift upon a sea of solitude,
         they cannot help but feel
        the stirrings of silenced voices
          pleading for them to take notice
         of themselves in the face of eternity

      The emptiness surrounding them
        rejoices at the chance to become real
       No longer void of meaning
         it now becomes a real place,
        a great chasm to be crossed
          by those few destined to try

     We live beyond our means
       and ponder this fact's significance
      as we anesthetize ourselves upon
        computer simulated dreams,
       living a life of decadence
         defiantly brandishing our death song

     We are the highest form of civilization
       outnumbered by the rest of a dying humanity
      that languish in shanty towns feeding off trash
        as we grow fat in a cultural stagnation
       that cannot confront this abominable insanity
         dealt to us by those in a long irrelevant past

     Our toils are but few
       yet our needs and lusts are many
      as we feed off the carcass of morality
        stripping bare whatever is in view,
       killing those without even a penny
         and reveling in our own banality

     With a cannibalistic fervent
       we exploit the desperation of the masses
      fighting for resources long since dried
        by generations whose resources recklessly spent
       always gave priority to the upper classes
         which gained ground while the rest slowly died

     They were the ones who begot us
       as we inherited their wealth and brutality
      along with a wasted and worthless planet
        that shall soon be ground into dust
       so we earnestly accelerate this harsh reality
         and rape the few resources left without regret

       We dream of what tomorrow will be
         when today is still an ambiguity
        We pin our hopes on some distant place
          while accepting life's harshness and waste

       The dawn we'd all like to see come
         needs to be worked for before it is won
        The end of pain we may never see
          but the prominence of its sources needs not be

       We need not leaders for leaders have been
         and did not succeed either now or then
        We hope for substitutes to carry the load
          when only we ourselves can pave the road

       The future remains to be a source of dreams
         as we still don't know what time or life means
        yet for life to be better,  we still must learn
          that we need do far more than just yearn

    A poem as sweet 
     as the first taste of vitality
       lies hidden like a buried pirate treasure
      between the pages of a book
     under dust on a shelf

    On the shelf this book
     constant competes with others
       in the silence their titles cry out for the attentions
      of an ever dwindling bastion
     of potential listeners

    By the door the feeble
     and aged librarian seems like a symbol
       of the dying enchantment with finely crafted words
      standing like the guard of a palace
     which no one remembers

    Those seemingly timeless words
     which have survived for centuries
       now seem to have been mortal and vulnerable after all
      for though they survive and get transcribed
     they may no longer live

    Chip away all the imperfections- 
     Chip away all the malevolence and greed-
      Chip away all that is not holy-
       Chip away all that we do not need-

    Sculpt out the soul within
     that is as lucid as our dreams-
      Sculpt out the inner essence
       that lingers in the inbetween-

    Soothe all of the rough edges-
     Placate the ones that must remain-
      Soften the hardness of reality-
       Fulfill the promise of the work's pain-

    Break away that which confines
     for all art must flow free-
      Break away all that does not represent
       some inner truth in you or me-

        Scenes of tenderness and beauty
          flicker across the silver screen
         Moments of love's enveloping rapture
           captured to caress souls unseen

        Flashes of life's diabolical geniuses
          and their horrific legacies of pain
         shine but for a fleeting instant of our lives
           though their impressions indelibly remain

        Images of victory and glory
          and of the triumph of the human spirit
         glow fondly inside us as we watch
           so exuberant our hearts can't help but hear it

        Pictures of the extraordinary and mundane
          tell the tales we all love to hear
         as we relax and become at one
           with experience controlled to make things clear

        Glimpses of our own unseen faces
          we get as we see portrayed the scenes
         of life as we have come to know it
           and of the shapes it takes in dreams

    Hurrah!  Hurrah!  Strike up the band
      for our hero has returned home
     as he is victorious once again
       and glorious 'til the very end

    Whether back from a far off planet
      or from some dreaded foreign war
     matters not for the details pale
       if we've bought the telling of the tale

    He has overcome insurmountable obstacles
      with great poise and devil-may-care flair
     All the bad guys have met death's hereafter
       or their demises saved for the next final chapter

    Justice has triumphed once again
      as it always seems to do in the end
     but it is never over until the last battle is won
       and the countless rotors spinning tales are never done

      Stitch by stitch,
        so goes the weaver's art
       As each moment builds upon the last
         gaining strength until reaching a great crescendo
        that is the ending of our lives,
          so too goes the weaver's art

      Piece by piece,
        we complete the puzzle of life
       Like the weaver,  we continually create
         but the weaver's task ends in a completion,
        a magnificent new creation,
          not an eternal demise

      Toil upon toil,
        such is the weaver's life
       As each seemingly endless arduous task
         becomes relegated and fitted into the past,
        an ever greater challenge appears,
          and so too goes our lives

     Put on a new face,
       of other's lives have a taste
      Take the time 
        to learn some new lines
       and experience
         the melding of different minds

     Write yourself a new part
       and make yourself a star from the start
      It's all in the way
        the scenes and dialogue play
       so wake up
         and make yourself up today

     Let all the world hear
       that the new you is about to appear
      Give out the hype
        for the tabloids to type
       'cause behind the flash
         the glamour life is all tripe

     Forget yourself,
       put it away on some shelf
      If you use you
        they are bound to abuse you
       and along the way
         you will probably lose you

      Can't you heart the music dance
        like the swaying of the trees
       in perfect harmony
         with the flowing of the breeze

      I watch the sounds paint
        colors of beauty and grace
       far to intricate for me
         to sketch or to trace

      Try to taste the quietude
        or the booming of trumpets and drums
       that shake the world so loudly
         you can't tell where from

      Swim within the sounds
        that make the air come alive
       which enables us
         to breathe the melody inside

      I feel the vibrant rhythms
        striking chords within my soul
       making all the different parts
         of my life seem whole

  One by one I shall cut the ties
    which will bind me to the ground
   and I shall feel the pull of the heavens
     begging me to rise forth and come hither

  I shall sit in the comfort of my airship
    and watch the world fall beneath my feet
   while setting my gaze upon a far larger world
     whereupon the distant and unrelated become one

  As I look down from my celestial throne
    and revel at the expansiveness of my new sight
   I shall carry with me the hopes of the spoiled and the damned,
     as they bow before me longing to be set free

  Over borders and barriers I shall drift away
    in my craft crowned by heat and golden sunlight
   and as countries and continents fade to a distant blur
     I shall learn true freedom at the mercy of destiny's winds

     Built like a mighty fortress,
       the dark horse rides asunder
      with its giant hooves
        tearing up the ground,
       making sounds like rolling thunder

     Relentlessly it surges forth
       like a vengeful demon of the night
      making all bear witness
        to its unbridled fury
       and its overwhelming sense of might

     Bound by the truth of existence
       and binded to an earth dominated by Man,
      it searches for escape
        the only way that it knows,
       by running as far and as fast as it can

     Running to every corner of the land,
       one and all will sometimes hear it
      as it thunders past
        seeking limitless pastures
       and freedom for its restless spirit

        Love is on the run
          from the embittered ones
            whom it once had shunned

        Its song they seek to silence
          and defy its protective innocence
            by drowning it in their obtrusive impudence

        Joy is being tortured
          for the arm of the law made capture
            and legislated away its rapture

        It sits in a cell in the dark
          jailed only for playing a part
            in bringing aid to a broken heart

        Freedom flew away
          when someone left open the cage
            bringing an end to a fraudulent age

        Bound,  gagged,  and shackled,
          they put it high upon a pedestal
            and convinced all that it flew still

       The future sings the joyful things
         carried to us on terradactyl wings
        The past's loss is a heady cost
          paying for each creation time brings

       Newness will vaunt aiming to daunt
         the rigidity of old orders that taunt
        Unique young notions die in the oceans
          of fears of causing renewed commotions

       Ancient verses drive the hearses
         of the victimized dreams society disperses
        They drink to health,  they drink to wealth,
          so smashed they can't see their stealth

       Intellectuals & crazies tiptoe on daisies
         held back by fewer can-do's than maybes
        The bountiful bold soon grow old
          accepting the lies they know have been told

       The dreamers are labeled schemers
         and jailed for misdemeanors
        while the suck ups and the ---- ups 
          are praised by the stuck ups

       This means that and damn means drat
         and they really expect us to but this crap
        This democracy of hypocrisy
          lets us think and do two different things
            but when truth is told,  the lies we hold
              while reality flies off on terradactyl wings

      Imagine me a dream
        of a crystal clear blue sky
       with playful billowing white clouds
         that dance as they pass by

      Imagine me a stream
        of shimmering living fresh water
       that tastes as sweet and as pure
         as heaven's most lovely daughter

      Imagine me a cream
        of the richest mother's milk
       atop a most wonderful pastry
         taken deliciously into yourself

      With invisible fire spewing forth upon his
        every word,
       his thoughts alone can poison even the
         strongest of men

      His presence bears down like a weight
        upon those who come near
       and soon they lose their capacity to resist
         as he draws power from them

      Every movement,  every action is coldly calculated
        to perpetuate his evil
       yet he lives with the same amount of fear
         which he inspires

      His speeches will try to seduce you
        whenever you listen
       prying at you with promises of limitless power
         over anyone you choose

      Beware of the shadows in the darkness
        when you walk at night
       Run,  run for he craves after the life within you
         and he is gaining fast

     The Trogans are over the next hill
       with Caesar and Napoleon too
      and this is only my first command
        what the hell am I supposed to do

     I've got to think like Colonel Klink
       and pray there's a way to bumble through
      If at first you don't succeed
        give up and try something new

     'Put your feet in a full retreat
       and run like heck until you turn blue!'
      My foremost task is to save my ass
        and second is to save my crew

     Well the barbarians and Mongols are closing
       from ahead but my ship's now in view
      'Swim for it!' I scream as I dive in the stream
        with crockadiles numbering more than a few

     I am overwhelmed to again be at the helm
       but I have the Russian Navy now to look forward to
      and wouldn't you know it,  something new would blow it
        as a large dragon snaps my sail in two

     'What a wonderful day',  I stop to say
       as I search through the hold for some glue
      but I come up to learn my whole ship will burn
        because the dragon sneezed on the last pass it flew

     So as I sink not even able to think
       what else could go wrong,  guess who I run into?
      Captain Nemo passes by and asks if I need a ride
        and even offers to throw in a brew

     Once deep in the hub of Nemo's giant sub
       I begin to think this is too good to be true
      While still searching for the catch,  my eyes spy a map
        with a circled 'Isle of Death' that might be a clue

          I see myself in the center
            of a ball that is spinning around,
           never colliding with another
             and never striking any ground

          The rotation continuously gains speed
            until the mass of myself becomes lost
           as my identity fuses with the incessant motion
             and my trepidations lose hold and get tossed

          I see the universe not as a thing
            but as a set of intercontingent motions
           which sense each other through vibrations
             felt though empty spaces living ocean

          An order arises around my spinning
            as I fulfill that pattern surrounding me
           completing the formation of a new ball
             with each part intrinsic to its destiny

     As I gaze at the reflections
       dancing across the surface
      of one of nature's many shallow pools,
        I feel as though I am looking
       at the ghosts from another time

     At the touch of my hand they scatter
       only to once again reappear
      as the waves slowly begin to quell
        and they reveal to me their stories
       for they know I need to hear them

     But these faces that do haunt me
       are not of strangers of long ago
      nor are their tales unfamiliar
        for they are the different ages of me
       and their dreams that did not survive

     They are in pools of rain and window panes
       and they will follow wherever I go
      until the day when I take them back
        if ever I decide to again be whole
       and no longer bar them from my soul

        I cannot see me
          I can stare into a mirror
            but only a stranger stares me back
           sharing a face like mine
          yet isn't me

        I cannot hear me
          when I speak of what I believe
            trying my damnedest to make a sound or stir
           to break the grip of fates upon me
          or the silence of eternity

        I cannot feel me
          I cannot even feel what is me
            body or spirit,  both always elude me
           leaving me to wonder why only I
          am not even given me

        I cannot know me
          I cannot know what I am or will be
            for what I am will only be shown long hence
           the last light these eyes shall see 
          and I,  a mere memory

        I don't know why someone as foolish as I
          should care whether I live or die
         If fates lie without me
           what meaning can there be
          in my wondering how or when or why

        The many more wiser than me ignore
          the pointlessness of wondering what life is for
         To me it's all the same
           whether a gauntlet or game
          and pondering will lessen it all the more

        Also,  I see no gain in seeking fame
          or chasing after wealth or fondness of name
         The needs that one acquires
           by having such lofty desires
          make poverty a far more prosperous aim

        A happy fool is me and all I shall ever be
          for being myself is the only goal for me
         Whether it is better or worse
           total indifference is my curse
          and contentment my claim to insanity

     Me thinks there's far too many lectures
       based upon faith in conjectures
      For real truths to be known
        complex models need not be shown
          for true wisdom has a logic all its own

     Me thinks there's far too much of it,
       these eloquent mixtures of wit and shit
      One person postulates utter nonsense
        then others rally to its opposition and defense
          and the absurdity soon becomes of social relevance

     Me thinks that we are diving off the deep end
       into superfluous inquires that others will commend
      If only we could once instead concentrate
        on the pressing problems we aggravate
          by putting off until it is nearly too late

     Me thinks me also must share the blame
       for my own curiosity cannot ever be tamed
      I can only hope that it will never be found
        that I never side-stepped out of bounds
          into the insignifica which today abounds

          Deference and submissiveness
            never delivered me my dreams
           They never made a mountain
             or won over a lover's heart

          Woefully needing to be at one
            with the cold damp reality of the earth,
           I gaze longingly at those fortunate ones
             who are able to take to the sky

          It is never an easy task
            to feast upon one's own pride
           acting humble before ungraciousness
             and being polite in humiliation

          Painful it is not to shine
            and glory in the life of your light
           receiving high praise and adulation
             merely for your own existence

          Rough is the road of obedience
            to the harsh rigors of the spirit
           which craves after self-aggrandizement
             despite the weepings of true humanness

          Lonely is the face of the wind
            that touches upon all of humanity
           causing countless sensations to flow
             yet itself,  it can feel nothing

   I am to me 
     I have always been 
       and shall always be
         true to me

   You are,  I see
     you may be whatever
       you choose to be
         or maybe just another
           part of me

   You are to you 
     or you are to me
       but whatever I do
         or wherever I go
           I shall never know
             if I'm true to you