Science is not the enemy
of centuries of absurd religion
And in the end
it will become it's friend
but not without evolution
or revolution

It's difficult to see
the charm in a day
when so much
is taken for granted
Let's be mindful to pray
at the start of the day
then be grateful
for the seeds we have planted

How ironic
this entropy of thought
that life
as a series of random occurrences
is nothing
but the death of destiny

If there is but one hour
of lighthearted ease
And within that hour
a moment's peace
How do I think ill of the day
and dismiss myself
from among the grateful?

Dreams are to escape
The laws of physics
They’re the playgrounds of analysts, psychics, and mystics
Ethereal visions of a make- believe earth
But in the end
We’re unsure of their worth

Lay the king down
Feel the pain of defeat
Overwhelm the relief
Felt from crying

Cover the frown
With a humble smile
Though the inside is sure
It is dying

Sometimes I hear Winter
Through the voice of a cello
Music written by Bach
In andante and mello

Sometimes I see Winter
Through bare trees in the silence
Birds perched on white silos
Awaiting Spring violets

Find a way
to justify
a day of doing nothing

You don't owe the world a thing
But, maybe,
it owes you something

Sometimes I do not remember
auditioning for this part
The lines are unfamiliar to me
and have been from the start
I manage to get through
most of the scenes
but at the the end of day
I know I have acted poorly
in role I’d rather not play

How difficult the lives
of those who spend
much of adulthood
searching for the parts of themselves
lost in an embattled childhood
and once found
assembling those jig-sawed pieces
into what was thought never to be whole

Better anger than non-belief
One that sees the Lord
as a well-carved but lifeless piece of wood
does not seek to strike it

It happens every Thanksgiving day
Because I do not think ahead
I do not think about the pie
Until I 've eaten too much bread
I do not think about the bread
'til I've eaten too much dressing
And I'm usually on my second plate
Before I've heard the blessing

Another cold Fall morning
when the sun dried leaves on the ground
are as crisp and golden
as the corn flakes
I poured into my breakfast bowl
When trees are growing bare
and questioning the wisdom of Nature's timing
When squirrels dash about
cursing their procrastination
It's when the only thing
I can think of what's wrong
with this time of year
is that it ends


and Winter begins

Handpicked from of the street
they sat at his dinner table
stuffing themselves with free food and drink
laughing at all his stories
while he made his notes
Later, he would sketch
exaggerations
of his uglier observations
People were unmasked and revealed
for what they were
Fine profiles of the grotesque
in the ever growing catalogue raisonne.

The span of time
to the present from birth
can be measured in a particle
of light sent to the earth
Life passes quickly
like the blink of an eye
that cannot stare long
at the sun in the sky

I can blot out the sun
and not let it shine
You'll be desperate for lies
that are but wishes of mine

The dust from regrets
you thought left behind
Is what you will choke on
when you mistake it for wine

I may smother your dreams
and leave your soul hollow
Extinguish the flame
of all hope that may follow

My power depends
on the weakness in men
For those that stay broken
can't be broken again

So, look if you dare
and can cope with what's there
Let's meet in the darkness
if you don't easily scare

Every afternoon
from the window of an abandoned building
a young boy plays a weathered guitar
his voice is sweet and enchanting
his message is one of love and hope
all that hear him are swept away
in a flood of euphoria and bliss
eventually he stops and disappears
all color drains from the street
there is no sound
the people go back to sleep
dreaming in a silent movie that is their lives

Delusion is born
in the mind's desperate attempt
to escape confusion

What is solely for my eyes to see
My ears to hear
My soul to breathe
It is the sweet inspiration
of what can be the only true rival
of air itself
It is you

I lie in the silence
of your golden sleep
the look of youthful innocence
is on your face to keep

As I gaze upon
your peaceful smile
You pass the night
in graceful style

and manage it
without a single peep

Maybe peace of mind
is living without what truly scares you
rips and tears you
into tiny pieces of yourself

Better to know
The worth of things
Rather than their cost
And never suffer the
Consequence
Of losing what
Can’t be lost

Evil deeds
Have never really changed
Most have served the same master
But, love can break
The tyrant’s chains
As it turns the heart ever faster

What sort of wretch am I?
Who curses God from where I lie
When I want to sing
I want to cry
But my arid throat’s too dry
To utter anything but
“What sort of wretch am I?”

War is best served by youth
For it has not yet
Had the time
To perish the thought of dying

There were crows in my dreams
Before my father died
They became the haunt of me
With the stare of their steely eyes
I bowed my head and prayed each night
Before the Grace above
To rid my dreams of the crows
And see instead a dove

Some fear weakness
More than dying
Some would die
Before found crying
They’d rather drink
Than face their fear
And God forbid
They shed a tear

Please don't take a picture
that you'll only leave behind
Don't bother with the memory
or keeping me in mind
I'd rather not be there
if you are never going to care
So, please don't take a picture
if you would be so kind

The suffering of the father
Is passed on to the son
It's the work of generations
That is, sadly, never done

May we find the separation
between
our heart's heaven
and our mind's hell
and see it as
the light of things

How can people see insanity
In those who are trained to act?
And they themselves can’t distinguish
Between boldfaced lies and fact?

Warm your hands
Next to it’s fire
Bow to it
And call it sire
No one may ever know
Where you have been

But if you do
Know full well
Your soul’s no longer
Yours to sell
And you may never
Be the same again

I think
therefore I question
I question
therefore I anguish
I anguish
therefore I tremble
I tremble
At the the thought
of the answer

Some decisions are easy
But some we are left to wrestle
With bad and the good
The what-ifs and the shoulds
Eventually ground up in a pestle

Why can’t the hardest of hearts
Look into the eyes of a smiling child
And be rid of what keeps them
From being human again?

I'm one of those
who when stubs his toes
upon life's uneven path
Blames his woes
on make-believe foes
or God's unlikely wrath

There are mornings
Upon my awakening
When a new day’s been granted
And it’s there for the taking
I assemble myself
From bad parts off a shelf
My house of cards stands
But not without shaking

White represents
The innocence of birth
Never the slate so clean
Black represents
The contemplation of death
Red all the passion between

The hours are always elapsing
No matter how idle their passing
There in Time's pages
Everyone ages
'til nothing is done without gasping

Was it the best of times?
Or the worst of times?
Maybe it’s best
That we look at the past
Through rose-colored glass
And let sleeping dogs lie

In pulling my shrinking underwear on
I noticed again that my feet were gone
All I could see was disgusting flab
So I bellowed this out like Captain Ahab
"**** thee whale!"

Sometimes it seems to me
that the world walks
with a big limp of hypocrisy

The powerful image of a hungry child
crushes my self-pitying thoughts
and I feel sad for the poor waif
that can't get enough to eat
and disappointment in the fool
that forgets his good fortune

If you go to a room
With an idle clock
Close the door
And engage the lock

There you live
For 20 years
And that clock
Moves not it’s gears

Will you age?
Will you wither?
I know its nuts
But I’m not sure either

No one knows better
how hard it is
to stop and smell the roses
than one whose hair is on fire

He no longer sits in the park
until after dark
looking for blue birds
perched on a lily white shoulder
For the hope of the chance
at such surreal romance
Fell broken
as the wind in the park grew colder

Let no more tears
Push against this leaky wall
For one more drop
will surely make it fall
Then, maybe at least
I'll be rid of the beast
But, the pain I want vanquished
will be missed most of all

There are times
when the atrocities
committed on the the battlefield
of my own mind
are the equal of anything
that happens in the real world
My sane and logical thinking
tells me that this is most certainly not true
But, the insane and emotional part of me
tells me that it is

Imagine the frustration
of one's soul as it observes
the mind and the body
thinking and acting in ways
so contrary to it's being

Set me afloat
on a slow moving river
Aboard an old raft
with Pop's rocking chair
I'd puff on my pipe
and rock on the water
waving goodbye
to the world's phantom cares