War is never over
Thought the treaties may be signed
The memories of the battles
Are forever in our minds
War is never over
So when you welcome heroes home
Remember in their minds they hold
Memories known to them alone
......
You waste the attention of your eyes,
the glittering labour of your hands,
and knead the dough enough for dozens of loaves
of which you'll taste not a morsel;
you are free to slave for others--
you are free to make the rich richer.
The moment you're born
they plant around you
mills that grind lies
......
Old elm that murmured in our chimney top
The sweetest anthem autumn ever made
And into mellow whispering calms would drop
When showers fell on thy many coloured shade
And when dark tempests mimic thunder made -
While darkness came as it would strangle light
With the black tempest of a winter night
That rocked thee like a cradle in thy root -
How did I love to hear the winds upbraid
Thy strength without - while all within was mute.
......
A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices
Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile,
Spreads its curious opinion
To a million merciful and sneering men,
While families cuddle the joys of the fireside
When spurred by tale of dire lone agony.
A newspaper is a court
Where every one is kindly and unfairly tried
By a squalor of honest men.
......
Your innocence
as fine as silk
I ripped off
from your fragile soul
Rape I guess
And I basked as I violated you
grinning every inch away
but as I found
and left your core
......
In the depths of my soul,
there lies a secret garden,
where the flowers bloom in silence,
and the trees whisper in harmony.
The sun shines bright,
casting its warm embrace,
while the breeze gently sways,
carrying with it a fragrant trace.
......
The taste of joy, so crystal clear,
It’s the feeling of a soaring soul,
An escape from chains that take their toll.
Freedom, the right to be yourself,
To speak your mind and not just shelf,
To choose your path and your own way,
And live your life, day by day.
Freedom, the power to create,
......
Freedom, sweet freedom, a precious gift
Born of struggle, yet so swift
The yearning of the human soul
To live and love, to be whole
It calls to us, this voice within
A call to break the chains of sin
To rise above, to be free
To live life in its entirety
......
I found you in that tidal pool,
from another ocean,
On another sentence,
And every hall in my body’d echoed
something too beautiful for this world.
......
If a crane was lost but not found
would it circle the latitudes of the earth for eternity?
For his featherdress to dissolve.
Would humans still watch it glide over their roofs,
as he does each fortnight’s first afternoon,
sitting by the alcove of their dormer windows
and give it a name?
defeat the sheer purpose of his flight?