These fair-weather feathers
blew south for a spell,
this was before the
morning chimes sang through us
sending kings to the floor
and fools to the post,
I could smell those days a´coming,
like fire in the wind
upstream, blowing back at us
as we fished and lived in bliss.
Tides rise and fall, I suppose
and we shan't be scared,
but we do scare,
we run home from the crook,
wet shoed and broken twigs
behind,
the hot breath of safety
in which we lay low for a moment
gust away in an atomic wind
the worst of outcomes
for we'd have starved to the end
if that is what He'd asked of us.
Man, take away your bellicose tin,
your toys of cataclysm,
potent bombs like balls hanging
before a greedy, hungry slut.
Ah, the forrest and the creatures
through which God sees.
To take them is to gouge out an eye,
to dismember the bread
to undo the risen flesh
upon which we omnivors feed,
to do so is the cast away belief
like a ghost mistakenly made sacred
after millenia of men,
and now who are we
say the ancients who never slept,
who are we to claim to know,
to be beyond belief?
Ay, how men self deceive
and in such deception render
every solider of love weeping,
the day of an impossible surrender
has come to pass,
they cry, they gasp,
the clasp at their own finger tips,
the gnaw out their own hearts,
they bleed for you and me,
and we will all die
and you may come back.
So while here, learn love from
hard to tender, from solid to mist,
from slave to savior, from addict
to prophet, from pulpits and upon graves
songs sang and words writ,
but none like that which
silence tells us all,
speaking in riddles and confounding dreams,
tangled into life like all the things nobody sees.
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