They say that he was born in lonely manger stable
They say that he was, then, alone and barely able
To guide his own young cries; to move or to be still
Let alone greater thoughts of curing the world's ills.

And then they say he grew; and worked as carpenter
In daddy's lonely shop, somewhere in Nazareth.
They say that, at 13, he ran away from home
To be found teaching life 'neath Jerusalem's dome.

They say he loved the world so much, he chose to die
Rather than see our kind wasting away our lives
They say he tried so hard to show us life from death
But that it was too much even for him, I guess.

They say he loved but one, the Mary Magdalene
They say they had a daughter and Sarah was her name
They say that him and Mary were always side by side
Until the fateful day when he had, sadly, died.

They say that, three days thence, he then came back to life
One quiet morn, alone, and first seen by his wife;
Gethsemane's great pain had long since been forgot
As they walked through the mist, all tears turned to nought.

They say so much, I know not what I am to believe
But, if he is out there, I'd like to meet him, please.
I'd like his hand to shake, and gently say hello,
If shaking hands does not still hurt his body so.

Sat at my desk, looking for inspiration
To write myself a poem, with calm and relaxation
Hoping to find the words to introduce my thoughts
To you, my dearest friends, suppressing any doubts.

The days do pass me by, if active or less so;
If doing things or resting, if I say yes or no
T' engaging life in full, or gently finding peace ...
A merry dance indeed, ending when I decease.

You could say that I'm down, I wouldn't mind at all,
You could say that I'm bored ... that is in full your call.
Though neither of these be true, I can assure you well;
I'm just musing on life, until the final bell.

I look for meaning still, in life's absurd old cup;
I want to spend my time in ways that say: so what
If time goes by, for lo, I'm leaving here my mark
A difference I do make, until my final walk.

Unfortunately not; whatever I do now
Th' impermanence of it does have the final laugh;
Whether I live or die, who cares in the long run
It's all dispensable, when all is said and done.

I'd like to write some songs; I know how to do so ...
I'd like to write some words, I'd like to just let go;
I only have few hours, from rising to sunset
From rising up in hope to going back to bed.

And so I write these words, I hope the first of more
To leave a trace somewhere, to let my spirit soar
Above life's old routine, imagination's vast
Horizons and such like, afore I turn to dust.

I wonder what is then, after that moment key;
I wonder if we'll taste sweet immortality;
My heart tells me oh yes, my head shakes, gently so;
What am I to do here is what I'd like to know.