Sometimes I wonder
If shooting stars
Are the santas to our wishes
Or just punishment to men.
Shooting stars,so seldom, so rare,
Are believed to be the core of our prayers.
However, whenever a star passes by,
A man on earth is judged by the stars.
Pictured as bloodshed
The word 'war' is fear by all
Everything that one can think of
All joins in the fray
Country against country
Sending dancers of death into the battlefield
Changing the landscape, death to all
Leaving behind a stage , full of agony
What can we say,
When wars are waged,
Both sides are equally just.
"What on earth have you done my Dear Man", he cried, and
lugubriously he cried it again, his arms up,
ferociously flailing like a mad man, howling,
for he missed the sound of the wild wolfing shout.
Man is the sailing boat of the soul.
A good man exposed to evil
will exercise evil to put right his pride
An evil man, who knows not the bounties of good
will exercise evil under the influence of pride
To man, pride is power
but to the soul it is the growing storm.
Dear Man Lee,
So this is how it’s supposed to go:
I eat the fruit of the seeds I sow,
And permit the weeds to grow and grow.
But can’t I take a moment to trim
All the excess fat and stretched out skin
Of the extra leaves hung on the limbs?
Can’t you see that I love my garden?
That I worked so damn fucking hard in?
Excuse my French I didn’t mean it.
So you see there’s just isn’t room
For a baby in this garden’s womb
Doomed to unnatural growth and acrid fume.
So its not that I don’t desire
To feed and care for my young flower,
I just forget, but not due to ire.
All of the world’s love I give to thee
Just don’t expect anymore from me.