Well, the maps were quite ghastly, you know;
We’d assumed the Frogs would have a pleasure cruise,
All baguettes and brioche, up the straits.
We’d no idea the Turks had dug in as they did,
As the spooks and their charts
Revealed sheer cliffs,
Harmless as Dover.
Nor did we fare much better on dry land,
The topographical atlases we had in the field
Might have been compiled by Mercator himself.
The Turks fought quite well;
One gives them a measure of credit for that, one supposes.
Frankly, we’d have been better served
If we’d just waited for the de rigueur internecine slaughter,
What with the ease they’d hacked each other to bits
Over some ancient family squabble or inconsequential tribal matter
(Can you imagine civilized peoples
Fighting to the death over such trivia?)
I suppose such cruelty and boorishness
Should have not been surprising.
They wouldn’t take prisoners, you know;
Just shot our boys willy-nilly,
With no regard whatsoever to honor or military convention,
Though it should have been no surprise
That the swarthy bastards would not play by the rules.
There is, I admit, no small attraction in the possession
Of the wand--but invariably that becomes obsession,
For magic bewitches all it touches, and woe to the man
Who, having discerned its methods and secrets, believes he can
Employ it yet stay unfettered and unscathed, without effect,
(As if the mere claim of enchantment would not make one suspect
Both the man and his motives), all sweet fruit without bitter rind.
Such men may find the verdict of peers and gods to be unkind,
(There exists no single point in time we fail to comprehend
That no simple act of wizardry postpones our mortal end)
For who among us remains impervious to Nature’s whims
Or time’s ravages--our concentration wanes, the eyesight dims,
Our hands shake, every bit as unsteady as our convictions.
So we carry on, with our exceptions and contradictions
Expertly hidden, in the hopes that, at least for a short while,
We can offset, through the employment of parlor tricks and guile,
The diminution of our gifts, fading of our faculties.
So, as we reach our denouement, what have our abilities
Brought us in the end, save the knowledge that our reputations,
No matter how great, serve as no match for our limitations?
there is nothing
will always win,
the stories are,
of lies go to hide
when we elevate
the truth as it is.
yet we repeat
when we know
we are alive.
so many have died.
i want the truth
to my daughter,
now that i have
lies to dominate.
tired and time
before me. the
truth is in
all i know
There are demons in your closet
It is obvious to me
You left the door wide open
Setting those bastards free
Anger lashed out first
With razor sharp claws
Shredding the unsuspecting
Without hesitation or pause
Beneath him is resentment
Forever locked up tight
Hidden within for years
Now more than ever, ready to fight
Betrayal weighs heavy
Taking up the most room
Can’t sweep it under the rug
There isn’t a big enough broom
Don’t disregard the guilt
Or forget about shame
These two big players
Are leaders of the game
Amidst the whirl wind of chaos
And the fury of rage
A broken heart exposed through fear
Makes its way to center stage
Vulnerability is waiting
She can keep your closet clean
Nourish you with love
Making those demons less mean
As the spotlight shifts its focus
There seems nowhere to hide
Will you crawl back into darkness?
Or simply swallow your pride?