Reincarnation
We all die
And that’s a must
Eventually we turn to atomic dust
The atoms have been
And always will be
From before we stepped out of
The primeval sea
They cannot die
Or multiply
They just are
And that’s no lie
So when people say
We have not lived before
Just turn the key
And point to the door
As we are all made
From stuff of the past
And scientists pin their claim
To that mast
So reincarnation
It is a fact
And in this life
We have to act
So sceptics you can argue all night
But of the above there is no fight
The soul and the spirit on the other hand
May be discovered if it is planned
Like the higg’s boson particle
Which is hypothetical
You have the right
To think
Soul is theoretical
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 11:32 AM UTC
She’s sometimes a fairy
Or a nymph from the sea
A troll and a Viking
Wise woman for free
A housewife a mother
A cook and a nurse
She earns just some pennies
To put in her purse
She yearns for romance
To be some ones muse
Not wielding a duster
And cleaning a hoose
One day she will find it
She’ll wish on a star
And the folk will all say
She’s “a ******* to far”
Jan 12, 2011
Jan 12, 2011 at 6:18 AM UTC
The crone sits hunched
in her little cell
has played all her cards
and cast every spell.
She's baron and empty
a dried up husk
and no one can see her
not even at dusk.
She was a wise mans daughter
now just a drudge
and life's passing by her
and that really hurts.
A young girl loves her
and takes her advice
calls her mother and other things,
nice.
Her daughters father
he twists the knife
the crone who sits hunched
he call's her wife.
She call's him DEATH.
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 2:08 PM UTC
The sea speaks of life
and contractions flow as waves
over her surface
Some come lie lambs
and others like lions
bringing with each one
a promise
a promise to cleanse
and
a promise to restore
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 11:47 AM UTC
My Lady she was weaving
below her silver moon
her nimble fingers working
while a soft wind blows a tune
My Lady she is working
and my window was her loom
her lazy threads like spiders webs
and winters sweet perfume
My Lady she has worked
her very silken lace
and walked upon the icy earth
with her nimble step of grace
My Lady she has covered
all sleeping forms of life
and the chill upon her fingers
cuts through the threads of life
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 11:37 AM UTC