The children are lost
And sadly to their cost
Are very quickly tossed
On life’s mountainous scrap heap.

What chances have they
To ever say
I don’t want to stay
On life’s mountainous scrap heap.

Without a voice
Or even a choice
They can never rejoice
On life’s mountainous scrap heap.

Very soon they’ll see
There is no key
To set them free
Of life’s mountainous scrap-heap

A short life they’ve had
And how very sad
To think they will add
To deaths mountainous scrap heap.

Blue grass, Red trees,
Black sun shines with ease,
Everything is changing size
What’s wrong with my eyes ?

Silent earth, still space,
Loud sun shines with grace,
Everything is noiseless fears
What’s wrong with my ears ?

Dry water, rough air,
Smooth sun shines with care,
Everything is shifting sands
What’s wrong with my hands ?

Senses right, no mistaking,
New sun shines without faking,
Nothing’s wrong, feel no pain,
Shine on perfect sun.

You came home
At ten past midnight
Drunk again.
You were rude and abusive
And violently sick,
Again.
You have embarrassed me quite enough
Now
Is the time for me to teach you a few lessons
To show you how
Lucky you are to have a nice home
Filled with comfortable furniture,
Lucky you are to have a devoted family,
Lucky to have a well paid job,
Lucky to have ……..
……..Anything
Yes, that’s what I’ll tell him,
If he’ll listen.

Imagine an empty tower block,
High on hill, taking stock.
Watching us meandering by
Through each and every uncaring glass eye.
It knows that its usefulness has past
And a higher tower will be cast.
All that's left is fate worse than death
But wait, could this be new living breath ?
No, just a stay of execution
That alone is no solution.
After this and every fight
They daub their messages clear and bright.
When the demolition proper does begin
There is one hope to which we cling,
When we have reached our three score years and ten
There’ll be no one to degrade us then !

Where is the answer ?
When will you be told ?
By yourselves you will never solve the problem
You will only increase the problem.
Left to your own devices
Your problem will destroy you.
And after your destruction may come your answer.
Take heed you cynics,
From one, already destroyed by the problem, who had seen,
With blind eyes,
The gravity of the situation.
Individually release your weapons
And collectively you will be shown
That mankind’s greed cannot be conquered
By mankind alone.

I cannot copy the finest strokes of your artists loving hand,
I may not see the minute detail of what maybe his best portrayal,
I may not even understand that the pastel colours matched his moods.
And
Even without fine strokes, minute detail and pastel colours,
His expression remains vivid, captured on a canvas long since yellowing.
But I saw your face in the crowd,
High above the rest.
I saw your loneliness chased away,
By conversation.
I saw your smile, just as the artist painted it,
And I glimpsed your face in the crowd.
I heard you steal a walk through the valley
Of fine strokes, minute detail and pastel colours.
I heard you steal a walk through the valley,
Away from the crowd, away from my eyes.
I cannot follow you lest you fade forever,
I cannot steal a walk through the valley.
But I did see your face in the crowd.