We're all in a time machine
Sitting on a beach
We try and try to hold onto
The sand within our reach
We hold it as a talisman
Though it does not teach
It has no permanence at all
Through our fingers it'll leach

We may not even try to grasp
And this, my friends, is worse
We notice not its passing
While we peruse our purse
We see it not, we are not taught
So it becomes a curse

But placed within an hour glass
The moments slowly rain
We gaze at each crystal
We gaze at every grain
We learn these minutiae
As our moments wane
For they can be so fleeting
Let them not go down the drain!

Life's a sandy shore, my friends.
Its wind will whisper. Talk.
We can breeze along it
We can take long walks
We can collect the shells of hope
Or end up on the rocks.

When we leave our footprints
For others on the way
Whatever will they make of them?
Will they last a day?
Will they shine as gemstones
With many colors gay?
Or will the ocean take them
Out into its grey...

So dance along the sand
But watch the hourglass
You're ensured your prints endure
Though the minutes pass
Make a strong impression

As each step could be your LAST.


SoulSurvivor
1/15/2017

Have you ever counted hour by the seconds
feeling intensely hungry for life?

If for once the sun forgets to rise
this night fails to usher in dawn
what my memories tell me are lies
it's today only I was born.

If this day is filled to the brim
in a blissful child's innocence
yesterday is a bad dream
tomorrow makes no sense.

If only this night is a ceaseless flow
never short of word for a rhyme
on her axis the earth spins slow
and the morn is away longtime.

If only I'm allowed to choose
to relive the life whole night
a fantasy is the hangman's noose
calling me by first light.

Throughout this soundtrack that I call my life,
       your heart is the beat,
          your voice is the lyrics,
   your soul is the slow and steady rhythm,
             your kisses are the chorus
       and your face is the album art.
Without you,
  I would never hear music the same again.

From nation to nation
All around the world
The Ruling Class
Though many times outnumbered
By the rest
Sit bathing in the sun
In their Ivory Towers:
Born to Richness
Whilst millions of Poor
Just starve to death.

Hordes and hordes of people,
Without clean water
Or food
Or a stable roof over their heads.
No medicine, or Education, or Anything
That Costs.

Governments give “Aid” to other governments
To “feed the poor”,
But we all know what happens…

What we need is a “Government of The World”,
Or some Benevolent Despot to Rule us all.
Anything must be better
Than the impotent UN
Or these shambolic “nations” –
Puppets of Globalisation.

Revolution threatens –
It often does –
Until the rulers appease us
With token concessions
And brainwash us
Though The Media,
So called “Education”
And Religious Dogma.

When will we learn?
Where is Democracy and Love?
But, bound by Political Correctness,
Woe betide if we Complain.
The Cold War continues,
So all we can do
Is soldier on
For The Common Good.

Paul Butters

Night, that old sinkhole
of the soul, climbs
the dark stairs of despair
who knows what the moon
is thinking behind that one-eyed
stare clawing his way through
the pines outside my window
carrying bootblack in a blanket
when it's colder for shining shoes
that go with my black suit
and the red rose on the pillow
I burn before the morning.