we fall so far that the first sign of light
awakens us to shaking and to pain
not ready but we face it all again
there was no comfort in the arms of night
we got it wrong so gelid is our plight
yet these are things that no one need explain
each is quite normal not a one's arcane
for suffering's a universal rite
what each must do is take up the hard load
of human courage as if it were new
and clasp it tightly without much regret
accept that this is one rough stony road
that comes with  sorrow and no good long view
and all is paid with labour and cold sweat

golden and warm in the december sun
this fading year will pass and be no more
we pause and take account of all that's done
since normal duty includes keeping score
what we must do is often clear and plain
to be repeated and done once again
our task unfinished this mild winter day
is not the simple message we convey
but something awesome born of nature's grace
seen not on mountain nor in ocean spray
the true redemption of the human race

we think we can escape that we can run
some massive distance from the starting door
and then be free but there's no means to shun
the things we are they're with us to the core
clear in the light and won't wash off in rain
that is the fact of our eternal stain
nor is there any word that we might say
to grant us ease nor even to delay
the fact of judgment the truth we must face
is not one we avoid in any way
the true redemption of the human race

the journey starts with us thinking it fun
but none believe that on the final shore
nor think of it in terms of lost and won
of those we love and those we now abhor
we speak of rivers that have found the main
of means by which we might a truth sustain
and understandings of the honest way
including moments that will never stay
but all that comes is part of the whole case
and from that knowledge no true soul will stray
the true redemption of the human race

prince none will wish our poor hopes to betray
and there's no unjust word that you could say
we have direction and we know our place
participants in nature's grand ballet
the true redemption of the human race

we are not measured rightly by good chance
our hopes are limitless but not our skin
there are no victors ever at this dance

they told us this was the time to advance
that all the old faults had been cast in bin
we are not measured rightly by good chance

our wounds will never let us jump or prance
and when we are related we're not kin
there are no victors ever at this dance

since it's a game whose players can enhance
their virtues best by adding to the din
we are not measured rightly by good chance

nor yet permitted to take up a stance
above the fray our only hope is sin
there are no victors ever at this dance

but there are still fools who think it romance
and who believe that there's a prize to win
we are not measured rightly by good chance
there are no victors ever at this dance

where we have been both sombre and perplexed
relieved in winter by the thoughts of light
in coming seasons knowing that the bright
hours that have passed will leave me no less vexed
than heavy cloud in this wintry context
of damp and rain and days that fade to night
with little notice nothing it seems is right
as we  engage to find out what comes next
this is the law by which our lives are bound
in lands both narrow and unseemly wide
to face the future with unsteady arms
in fainting hope of finding safer ground
not certain that there is a winning side
and listening for the end of all alarms

there's no occasion to admit defeat
beneath an empty sky of callous blue
in this proud season when we must renew
so many hopes our senses cannot treat
these many messages of the hard street
as what they are and the time's overdue
for easy answers so the young must rue
what they can't know and old ones lose the beat
we change the era as we change our socks
in solemn mode but yet with little thought
of any deeper meaning in the act
one moment free the next cast on the rocks
with every motion seeming overwrought
our species lost now between truth and fact

today my thoughts are focused on the task
that is to come the duty that must be
not just for us but for what we agree
must lie behind the smile upon the mask
up we must get then while yet others bask
in remnant sunshine by the still-warm sea
no one is left upon a bended knee
to find a purpose you must simply ask
if scripture says a slave is due to serve
and must not raise his head above the rest
that's an obscenity and shall not stand
each has to get the honour they deserve
find out the hard way passage of the test
and win the garland with their own hard hand

in the deep silence when the heavy snow
had closed the ways and frozen every road
each of us certain that no river flowed
and turning inwards for the gentle glow
of  home and hope that love will soon bestow
on all of those who have found out the code
of normal joy there's no more human mode
for us to find nor for the heart to know
yet as the dark descends on the cold city
we're held together by another light
clearer and kinder than we might deserve
safe in a time we know for rough and gritty
and made secure by truth instead of might
we find the gold around the final curve

words being said in this open debate
frustrate our thought it's not that they are lies
nor traps and gluepots that we might devise
for maximum confusion of the great
and not so clever who would pass the gate
to make themselves seem honest to our eyes
for a short season till they get the prize
and can then smile unburdened by all freight
there is much honour in sticking to fact
in simple truthful measuring of all
that needs be said before the earnest crowd
but yet the ones who think silence is tact
and fail to understand the urgent call
are those with greatest need to hear things loud

those are the places that have lost their names
gaining thereby not even a tin piece
that some bright spark might give out of caprice
too keep hope going in the complex games
of pride and anger but there are few shames
that will get those who've been ****** just to cease
once they've been shown up for all time as geese
since they'd much rather go into the flames
all tortures will destroy those who are brave
no matter what they say but never mind
there are no secrets will be left intact
on this side of the shelter of the grave
hope will remain for those who still are kind
to all who know just how their world is wracked

fallen from glory the world now turns drab
so easily a single dullish cloud
before the sun and all brightness is cowed
without resistance we can never grab
the moment back it's cast upon the slab
and we are from all justice disendowed
who were not long ago happy and proud
but now have come to the realm of the crab
the world is many things other than fair
since what we have we always have to earn
on terms that change each day and are not right
when most we want the best of things to dare
but never mind all that is good must burn
and from the fire we gain a better light

the normal vision of the human way
is what we bring at first into each mind
in hope that when we are by fate confined
in the beige cubes of ordinary day
no creeping horrors will come out to prey
on thoughts that must to wider worlds be blind
for fear of just exactly what we'd find
if honest brain was let come out to play
but there are dragons just beyond the wall
the child inside will know though adults fail
so often just to open up their eyes
or let their ears adjust to hear the call
of beings greater than the normal scale
moving their wings across the winter skies

no echo now but in the dull grey light
see passing birds that pause and watch us feed
our satiated faces lacking need
or understanding in their urgent flight
of what exactly is the human plight
or when our hunger turns into stark greed
the passerine just seeks an errant seed
and a safe place where it can spend the night
the human does not show the passing bird
this truth of life that everything's the same
since all of us make up a single cast
we're subject each of us to one hard word
as players in the sole eternal game
each doomed to pass in time into the past

take this and jell it as remembered light

one simple gesture laughing at a joke

in middle afternoon and at one stroke

you've got it down and kept it in plain sight

when all the other moments take their flight

or disappear behind the darkest cloak

of all forgetting where the world is broke

but yet we act to make things come out right

vision is sure and clear when you are young

so slow to fade but still the edges pale

we can't recall the colour of the stone

on the south wall nor where the laundry hung

long years have passed and recollections fail

still there is crystal fire within the bone

the circle's now completed that is plain
even to those who will not trust their eyes
who weighted down by hope and by surmise

have given little thought to the campaign
and left the door quite open to the spies
the circle's now completed that is plain

for those who come here seeking rapid gain
and always eager to hurt or despise
the slow and gentle baffling them with lies
the circle's now completed that is plain

our world turns all experience into test
just so we're measured each and every day
each purpose is the same to be the best

the angry and the ones who acquiesced
in the strict rules by which we willed to play
our world turns all experience into test

they said to us and we thought it a jest
until the last good choices went away
each purpose is the same to be the best

at this long game and not to be depressed
is what the teacher said and we were grey
our world turns all experience into test

with each achievement losing all its zest
once skill has turned it into just more play
each purpose is the same to be the best

so that is all the worth we may attest
while each of us has some good word to say
our world turns all experience into test
each purpose is the same to be the best

no matter what we say we do not feel
the pain of others right inside each heart
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for one more challenge for the last appeal
which was presaged right at the very start
no matter what we say we do not feel

our hopes and urges have been brought to heel
and the last hero laid upon a cart
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

to see the message and to take our meal
in comfort all who come here will depart
no matter what we say we do not feel

we will start forward and then we will reel
back down in sign that we have lacked the art
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for what is good the last hard spring of steel
yet still the while some fool will strain to ****
no matter what we say we do not feel
instead we wait the turning of the wheel

we strain to hear the music of new light
within each heart to tell the truth of strain
as we rebuild the castle once again
on land of hope with chances maybe  slight
indifferent between horror and delight
in a swift race to beat the winter rain
and certain that the walls won't keep out pain
but may succeed at shelter from the night
our hope is simple out there in the cold
no one survives so if we can defend
against the dark some little may endure
to do all this we must stay sharp and bold
from the harsh start right to the ****** end
for the one golden gift we can secure

we do not get the choice to grow or fade
since each of us is placed just where we ought
to find the truth of all the things we're taught
which is much more that what life must abrade
with its rough edges we are ever frayed
broken and blinded knowing that we fought
both hard and well but losing were caught
in the old trap and sent back to the shade
so much to tell about where we were cast
the clawing upwards that's another fight
though none will listen to the loser's tale
nor should they we recall the faded past
while today's children look towards the light
and have no patience with the ones who fail

what choices for the poor or for the dead
in myth or legend amount to the same
decline of knowledge ending of the game
feasting on shadows and the ghost of bread
stale waters and the odours of the head
nought to the matter there is no more shame
where we have gone only the ***** flame
of penny passions when the nights are red
now dreadful options face us on each side
when we must turn toward the fallen night
with little hope that anything we say
could make a difference it's a thorny ride
where we'll be going and the sort of plight
we find ourselves in is not healed by day

this is the year when each week brings more pain
we dread to hear the news since it must shock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

we heard your cry and knew it was in vain
no one would come not even to take stock
this is the year when each week brings more pain

there is no balance there's no even strain
the boat will sink after it leaves the dock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

we see the message and it is quite plain
the fates have gathered and they seem to mock
this is the year when each week brings more pain

the victim's due is to be killed again
at a set time as measured by the clock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

and never shelter that we could attain
since every hope we have turns out a crock
this is the year when each week brings more pain
there's death instead of healing in the rain

the southern aspect of a season's tale
when clouds have parted and the days advance
with kinder sunlight into springs expanse
just at the point where hearts might seek to fail
is our new vantage right here we inhale
both air and sound the enemies of chance
encourage hearts to feel the hope of dance
and with a new enlightenment to sail
good airs inspire the lungs and cause the feet
to find their rhythm with the season’s change
in a new blend that came from over sea
a deeper wiser measure of the street
bringing homeward what was once so strange
to make us in the end a bit more free

truth comes in the gaze of eye and ear
and is released in ways that we find best
in simple language nothing can be expressed
but in a form and fashion that is dear
to ordinary hearts now we adhere
in principle and practice to the test
of frailty in all that is confessed
by guardians who will not succumb to fear
duty requires action as well as speech
from those told off to watch the border wall
for signs of trouble coming with the spring
but courage makes us all extend our reach
makes us imagine ourselves ten feet tall
and gives our hearts and voices cause to sing

there is some magic in the changing sound
of music in the modulated touch
over the distance we have gained so much
crossing great waters at a single bound
while all the pains of the old hurt were drowned
and honour met  just one step past the clutch
of oldest terrors we learn truth is such
a mighty gift yet one we may expound
our hope for progress turns right back to shame
when out of darkness we find naught but force
to hold us back and keep us from our right
when what is needed is but one bright flame
to serve as guide to set us back on course
reminding hearts that not all is in night

so many echoes in the rain
leave nothing of our vision clear
but when we breathe the morning air

the feeling's fresh the scent is plain
to all who notice yet we hear
so many echoes in the rain

that every ordinary brain
is forced into a deep despair
at oaths that we are forced to swear
so many echoes in the rain

if there are ways to measure all the tale
in years of story how the shapes are made
without an edge of humour being frayed
by passing breeze or rough attacking gale
you'd say that we must in this wise assail
the aged creators of the human braid
for all the crimes of their despairing trade
before we mark their effort with a fail
no truths have been discovered by our kind
without an effort to disturb the soil
uproot the weeds and plant a better seed
so that the newer products of keen mind
emergent in the end from bitter toil
can match the urge exactly to the deed

your chances come and go like a spring breeze
above the tulips maples still are bare
but all the city seems to be aware
that something's brewing in the mysteries
nature may hide some trick in her chemise
that the best gardener would not think she'd dare
and then send signals out in simplest clear
when we most think to sit and take our ease
on edge of spring we wait as on each night
the stars reveal another sort of chance
and we are given leave to ask for rest
not knowing yet what we may get as right
nor what our steps are in the coming dance
but hoping that each change is for the best

so much is lost inside the space of dark
where what we see and hear is felt so hard
that when we tear or find the door is barred
to every vision and without a mark
we turn to go we hasten to embark
on one more journey while you stand on guard
with eyes close watching on the final yard
as all our choices now have come down stark
no names are mentioned in the frozen place
where all are sorted for the last short trip
out to oblivion yet there's a chance
that these sad agents of the human race
may for a moment get themselves a grip
so joining in the finest kind of dance

what we saw was the mountain not the road
and so mistook the task and were dismayed
but still plugged onward though we were afraid
each of us frightened bearing a great load
of doubt and sorrow though it might explode
the peak above us could only persuade
our simple hearts that we were half decayed
yet we  walked on with hope our one sharp goad
so what we did was make it the whole way
not without pause and not without much pain
since stubborn hearts refused all other choice
to look from summit at a brighter day
with backs all straightened once relieved of strain
and spirits freed to sing and to rejoice

none of it matters but it must be said
while we have breath to speak and time to cry
since in the end we can't give in to dread

choice is not easy once we're out of bed
facing the truth and under every eye
none of it matters but it must be said

not just to you but to the ones who sped
away so fast who feared the cloudy sky
since in the end we can't give in to dread

we wait the storm knowing what lies ahead
is no wise worse that what has now gone by
none of it matters but it must be said

in plainest words and set down in black lead
for all to see and for none to deny
since in the end we can't give in to dread

and none can take the duty in our stead
nor be in place when our turn comes to die
none of it matters but it must be said
since in the end we can't give in to dread

some answers teach us that we have to ask
in simple words but make the complex set
of terminologies our broadest net
the tool that's aptest for this ample task
of abyssal exploring those who bask
on  the warm hills they who will never get
how hard the job is whose feet are not wet
they'll not discern the world behind the mask
but on some morning when the mists depart
those who go furthest out may well discern
in the sharp moment of deepest desire
the one thing missing to complete each heart
at the right moment when the waters burn
with the clear light of universal fire

we heard a clear message loud as a gun
roll from the speaker who stood above
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

there’s what we have asked for much has been done
the structure is falling just one more shove
we heard a clear message loud as a gun

and we are not startled though it may stun
having already seen fist in the glove
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

pleasant words told us of miles left to run
with hearts of a lion and souls of a dove
we heard a clear message loud as a gun

out of the vision the teller had spun
came more hope than any of us had thought of
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

the story of all that was worth being won
the magic and beauty of our common love
we heard a clear message loud as a gun
bright as a sovereign in the setting sun

all that we know is measured in degrees
of silence or of truth that we declare
not loudly but most firmly into air
that has been purified by these dark trees
standing impassive in the midday breeze
while we afflicted by most reasoned fear
are not so hopeful that we’ll choose to dare
go through the woods to face the heat or freeze
no options are so good are purest chance
but all our wishes end up just as vain
as when we started so we must endure
let other figures enter in the dance
hope for the sun but buck up under rain
and face each ill uncertain of the cure

dull red and heavy is the morning sky
the storm is coming  so we are afraid
while time is wasting yet to make the grade

the air's unmoving birds refuse to fly
there is no hope that the great storm's delayed
dull red and heavy is the morning sky

no better world is showing to the eye
what's been released we hope will not degrade
beneath the coming rain yet we're dismayed
dull red and heavy is the morning sky

what’s left unknown weighs down  until we bleat
in rage and fear then leave off being bold
for better nights and stories wiser told
as those with longer practice wait the fleet
leaving the late ones to patrol the street
in angry silence so while it is cold
as the dew rises and the night turns old
the urgent and the foolish still may meet
this is the game of rats that always prey
upon the leavings that once made for joy
cast away now beneath the starless sky
as every denizen flees from the day
in certainty that even truth’s a toy
and honour turns out just another lie

a century ago the world began
in blood and pain the auguries were wild
so many things have changed in a short span

my father’s world the currents overran
there was no time for words or thoughts too mild
a century ago the world began

we have to choose which of the screens to scan
it is too easy to become beguiled
so many things have changed in a short span

and we are all entranced woman and man
by all the facts that overcome the child
a century ago the world began

two shots and then the faeces struck the fan
for all mankind none would be reconciled
so many things have changed in a short span

the light itself has been placed under ban
and all that once was purest been defiled
a century ago the world began
so many things have  changed in a short span

when eyes look up there is no blue to spy
but clouds of blemished dark and ***** grey
no sign of laughing sun of yesterday
the joyful world of summer seems a lie
told by sad fools each eager to deny
the horrid truth that beauties never stay
while we're the victims in this tragic play
who quail and shiver under lowering sky
still there's an answer as the night returns
and deeper darkness holds us closer in
we're not yet trapped by walls nor iron bars
the cold is met by all the force that burns
from hopeful hearts that still ache to begin
and wisdom that will reach up to the stars

there are no rules that do not become stale
with greasy age but never quite can fade
into disuse there's an unspoken trade
that does not need the ruler or the scale
but measures all those things that must avail
to keep us steady when we call for aid
the ones who never come out to parade
but without whom the enterprise would fail
these actions have the qualities of rite
imbued with meaning sanctified by age
yet all the agents seem such normal folk
people who sleep through the short hours of night
would not be caught dead strutting on the stage
but will not bend beneath the whip or yoke

wisdom is but sharp experience read
against the peal of years and given weight
still by the time it matters we are dead

so all your chiding some good thought has bred
within each mind before the hour turns late
wisdom is but sharp experience read

in the cold pages of the tale of dread
as drear hours pass until we reach the gate
still by the time it matters we are dead

and all good judgment given up and fled
since it is past all moment for debate
wisdom is but sharp experience read

as text to the dark music in each head
that echoes in deep tones against the slate
still by the time it matters we are dead

therefore avoiding all those who have fled
into the perils of a different state
wisdom is but sharp experience read
still by the time it matters we are dead

when after hard night’s sleep you wake to shock
of world everted by some horrid act
that frightens into childhood though the fact
is not so dangerous as to unlock
those charging monsters that good adults block
assuring you that though we've been attacked
the enemy will suffer the impact
and we will be as stalwart as the rock
the sounds of battle will not this day reach
our tender ears the voices urge stay calm
just go about your life and do your duty
yet they are silent those who ought to teach
the urgent lesson that there is no balm
to ease the pain and no way back to beauty

these are the laws with which all must comply
within the bounds not just of this one state
but under all the norms of human freight
as though we were not only passing by
like winter birds up in the cloudless sky
each on its way towards a waiting mate
with certain knowledge of the coming date
true clarity of vision in each eye
so duty comes upon us and we weep
for all those moments when we could not stand
in proper place right by the open door
where ordinary watchers just might keep
a welcome jug of water close to hand
and for the hungry perhaps something more

we make the nation out of heart and mind
but give allegiance only when we're paid
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

for all that we have been to truth inclined
its consequences make us all afraid
we make the nation out of heart and mind

yet cannot doubt that we’ve still been consigned
to the old trap we're in the same old trade
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

and thus we know already what we'll find
once we unravel all the plots we'd laid
we make the nation out of heart and mind

expecting history will be more kind
granting some measure of good ease and aid
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

since no such hope has ever been designed
instead we'll have to do with what we've made
we make the nation out of heart and mind
which means this kingdom's truly  of the blind

if knowledge is the end that each must seek
through all the tangled forest of the text
it is no wonder that we are so vexed
on the occasion of a sharp critique
delivered in plain words only the meek
affect to listen though they are perplexed
since they have no real sense of what comes next
and no desire to let their hurt minds speak
while up above the hunter is alert
to every nuance of the changing breeze
eager to know what comes in scent or sight
since that one thing may help or may yet hurt
but either way must fall before it flees
and be dragged out into the open light

no choice but midnight left and this is hard
to take when day was joyous and so kind
that we were filled with blessings of good mind
but now few stars and every way is barred
vision is blurred and all the ground is charred
by wildest fire we have been left behind
by some harsh fate in this land of the blind
where all things good have been cut up and marred
there must be wisdom left for each to trace
the proper path to decent human sight
where everyone is worthy of their face
and every action leads each to the right
this is the hope to which we all must hold
that none can purchase though it lead to gold

so much is meant but carried in each head
is other freight the which no one could lift
without some aid to take us cross the rift
that separates our bodies that's the dread
that strikes all of a sudden with a red
intensity that's hot as well as swift
but gives way fortunately to your gift
and the great sweetness of all that you've said
time's not enough for all the forms of play
nor for the music that love can require
of us but life goes by at such a pace
clip that years compress into just one day
while we are still warmed by the same fire
and held together in the same embrace

long toil will end when good folk all agree
on what is just and how the work divides
and on this morning we all wake up free

so many years that each lack harmony
we seemed only to wait for changing tides
long toil will end when good folk all agree

on how we fare and how we stand to see
the ones who move or that which still abides
and on this morning we all wake up free

the music plays with skill and constancy
while one who would have punished simply hides
long toil will end when good folk all agree

on codes of honour sitting by the sea
watch as the last bad soldier changes sides
and on this morning we all wake up free

so now we gather under an old tree
to give our promises and choose our guides
long toil will end when good folk all agree
and on this morning we all wake up free

no thought of loss just so much heavy grey
thickness of smoke  unfolding on the ground
removing colour flattening all sound
and yet we can note little of the day
too warm we think but yet no time for play
all wait to hear a message more profound
but all who speak seem narrow closely bound
by weighty powers all have lost the way
instead of music we have flighty speech
to serve as background for the journey out
beyond the doors to where all roads must start
each of us pledged to do our best to reach
the highest goal and by the human art
we know the best to overcome all doubt

i wrote the words and sent them on their way
not knowing how each reader understood
just what was meant nor whether any good
would come from what was simple dance and play
of thought and vision now the options sway
between the meadow and the darkling wood
and we are trapped right where the choices could
not be more difficult on the worst day
what's said can be repaired but what is made
is fixed within the world once and for all
to be acknowledged  or to be denied
that is the problem puts us in the shade
leaves us exhausted makes us want to bawl
and in the end will take away our pride

we're faced with everything but honest grief
hard lies are shouted in the open street
and pleasant words recited in retreat

by both the kind physician and the thief
until we think the harsh venom is sweet
we're faced with everything but honest grief

so we resile still there's no real relief
for either broken hearts or weary feet
since life itself turns out to be a cheat
we're faced with everything but honest grief

from shadow into shadow there's no need
to measure honour nor to mete out pain
through the sad morning for each must abstain
from that fierce propaganda of the deed
which was by action of straight force decreed
since all the nature of this world's made plain
and we learn both the cure and the heart's bane
what makes us whole and what will make us bleed
truth does not give the agent much real choice
you get to act since there's nowhere to rest
this side of death that is the one sure fact
instead you have to give justice a voice
face the rough world and submit to the test
just hoping to get all the way intact

life is best measured by the hopes we burn
through those dead yesterdays none could forget
times when the fattest were the most sharp set
which ended we wished would never return
still this is what each of us pays to learn
from that hard teacher whom we name regret
the many ways that life is overset
and those lost gifts for which we will long yearn
so let the drum beat none of us will leave
without a turn upon the judgment seat
so we gain wisdom from the hard result
although our purpose was not to deceive
we're forced unto it by the long defeat
which strips us of all reasons to exult