It is said virtue possessed by a sage causes him no misfortune
But it is he who must decide between rage or a stoic nature
In all of life he sees the destruction cast by man’s emotion
The will of another man is how he determines which is greater

Would he hang a nun in the town square if it would save a forest?
He once could see snow on the mountain tops in the spring
And now that he can only see rock he wondered of his desires
Was it for mankind or the bounties he received to hear nature sing?

If only his will could be released from the evil and the good
Then his form would guide his views within the natural state
But what has cleaved to him is being torn away while he grieves
And the steps he takes can only hear the voices of his fate

The aggression of making a life made an orphan of conservation
But lives alone in the wild was intended for our own good
A revolution cannot begin until it reaches those with something to lose
Until then one man will give his life as his mother knew he would

How do I tell her
"My love would be unrequited
so please love me not"

That short wispy haired lady
Fighting her way against the wind
Up the London Road
Is my Mother.
Lips pursed she is returning
From the hairdressers, the post office
And has yet to pick up steak and kidney
For the pie she will make
For the boy who is coming home
For her son who will soon be there
For the man who loves the pie
For her child who loves her.
Her lips are pursed in determination
Against all the obstacles
Real and imagined that stalk her.
Lately that climb past the church
Made her puff.
Tiredness, her weakened heart
Struggling to keep up.
Perhaps the thought of another winter
Another wet and windy struggle
Up and down the village
Up and down the London Road.
Discretely her body decided
To give up.
No more struggling
No more tiredness
No more puffing and halting
For my shy timid Mother.
No more making tea
No more cleaning
No more washing
No more worrying
For my Mum.
Her three sons
Middle aged and modern
Stand miserably with their Father
Standing in suits in the municipal crematorium.
Rain and wind, my Mothers enemies
Howl and lash outside
Lost without their old victim
Inside aging relatives
Exchange scared glances
Wondering who is next.

An ounze of gold, found in a river
Assessed as a diamond, swallowed in an ocean
When we met in England.
All of Aisa is painted in platinum
Diamonds in Bankok, too sordid to be seen.
If you had rare sight, extinct 2900 BC
You may see race in the reflection of platisation
And the ability to chip it off is as harmonious as it gets.

If not superiority found you, and alimim forefathered you
To follow your blessed unique connection
Narcissus is not all around you, nor is any other God
What exists as greatness is only you.

In true great form should be existentialism
Instead you think you are untouchable
However ignorant I find it
When my mother bought me here as a piglet
She said I would always stand alone in stoicism.