CliffSongs

  Spun   Priests and financiers trading places, Politician’s empty faces, Innuendos supplant graces, Causing clear sight to bend. Newsmen selling online crazes, Leader’s staring, soulless gazes, Running sheep through the mazes, Have you bought the latest trend?   And it all spins round and round, A frantic spiral inward bound. Behind it all that grinding sound, And it’s us being ground.   Will they let you plead your cases, Or put you through programmed phases? Mind you, keep up your paces, Stay in the lane that you are penned. Entertaining with inept cases, Influencers in the empty spaces. Keep us mules in our traces, Where is found the constant friend?   And it all spins round and round, A frantic spiral inward bound. Behind it all that grinding sound, And it’s us being ground.   How much longer can we spin? Just how long has it been? How does the end begin again? How much longer must we spin?   And it all spins ro

  A Summoning   The enemy moves, He is swift and sly. When the bells are rung We will make reply. The enemy howls, How loud he cries! But the bells have rung, And we draw nigh.   And the bells have rung, And our song is sung. But we must move on, From battles won. Our swords are sharp, And our shields are slung. And we must march on, For the bells have rung.   The enemy swears, With words divides. We hear the bells, And so we ride. The enemy creeps, On fear relies. But the calling bells, Won’t be denied.   And the bells have rung, And our song is sung. But we must move on, From battles won. Our swords are sharp, And our shields are slung. And we must march on, For the bells have rung.   The enemy snarls, Our numbers grow. The enemy spins – Nowhere to go. The enemy clamors: The splitted tongue. We listen not – Our bells have rung!   And the bells have rung, And our song is sung. But we must

  Wind   A hot wind, Feral, fatal, And somehow focused, A live thing seemingly, Yet its wake is death, Desiccation, And dread. For those that survived it had heard. Susurrations, Sibilance, Sorcery. This was a Sending, A commit from afar, A malevolence wrought. The black work of a warlock unnamed, Unknown, Unexpected. His incantations murmur beneath the gale, Writhing wordings whistle and wail, Indiscernible and still distinct, Whispers in a tongue from some place shadowed. Those that hear it go deaf, Or go mad. Those are the lucky. Some are withered where they stand, Their essence stolen seemingly from within, Left empty, And yet alive. They will not recover. And these too are yet lucky, For there are those seemingly untouched, Yet minus their very will. These spend their remaining days at nothing: They move not. They speak not. They eat not. They have a madness of stillness, None remain that can construct the

  Time and Time Again   Somewhere beneath the France-Switzerland border:   September 10, 2008 – The final preparations completed, the Large Hadron Collider at the European Organization for Nuclear Research - CERN is powered up. Wild and very inaccurate predictions are made about what could result from these initial tests, including but not limited to the opening or creation of a singularity or black hole, or the movement of existence to or creation of a new timeline. Scientists worldwide dispute such theories. A technician watching a row of dials absent-mindedly fiddles with a button on his white shirt. Georgia, USA – The Allman Bothers Band, “The Six Hardest Working Men in Rock”, will soon wake up to tour in support of their 20 th studio album. A surprise concert movie will be unveiled later in the week to critical acclaim. Illinois, USA – Barack Obama’s campaign headquarters bustles busily in preparation for the eagerly awaited debate against the not well-liked R

  Wrong Rains   A wrong rain soon is fallin’, Have you seen the news? Illing armies mauling, Who has lit the fuse? Politicians trawling, Watch them as they schmooze, Corporations sprawling, Watch them turn the screws.   A wrong rain is fallin’, The children cry red. A wrong rain is fallin’, What monster is fed? A wrong rain is fallin’, Useless prayers are said. A wrong rain is fallin’, Will you keep your head?   Wrong rains they are comin’, Save up your income, Wrong rains they are comin’ Do you hear the drums? Wrong rains they are comin’, The war engines hum, Wrong rains they are comin’, Listen ‘til you’re numb.   A wrong rain is fallin’, The children cry red. A wrong rain is fallin’, Some monster is fed. A wrong rain is fallin’, Useless prayers are said. A wrong rain is fallin’, What price for your head?   Wrong rains in the outlook, Have you heard the forecast? Wrong rains in the outlook, Armies are am

  One Lone Sock   A lone sock, Last vestige of a temporary resident, Run off by circumstance, Maybe a cop, Or drawn away by an insistent hunger, For either food, Fentanyl, Or faith, But gone nonetheless, Leaving behind just enough To secure their anonymity. Here beside the highway, An ill-kept ground: Walkways inserted by the high-tension towers, Mown infrequently enough For the detritus of spent lives to collect. Other tenants in this park have gone, Their traces as untelling: A shirt slowly investing itself into the soil, A broken comb, Blankets in whole or in part, Emptied food containers, And the invariable broken bottles – None may be left whole by passing teens. For teen have been here: Ghostie, and Taz, and Sniz, Each announcing themselves in their own color, Each denigrating the others, All making a mess of the sidewalks. If homework was allowed in spray paint, They might be better served. Such is the condition o

  For Zoey   The little dog walks with her nose in the air, When I take her out, we make quite a pair. When she smells something, she takes off on a tear, By the time I catch up, her whole nose is in there.   The little dog walks with her tail all a-wag, Good thing she’s so little, I don’t wanna be dragged. She looks back annoyed if I start to lag, How do I keep up with her constant zigzag?   The little dog trots, watch her tail go, Her entire backside sways so to and fro. I don’t mind her speed, I need the exercise, How is so much energy packed in such a small size?   The little dog knows exactly where to go, But she stops for all the smells, just so you know. The little dog gets all excited right when we begin, But she’s pretty tuckered out by the time we end.   The little dog gets somewhat worn from a longer walk, She would say “A long way.” if she’d only talk. Sometimes I must pick her up off her little feet, But she’s never too wor

  To be Alive   What a stupid time to be alive, When it’s so easy to be killed By an agenda. An agenda that dictates That high-power weapons are easy to obtain So that they can kill you. It’s a stupid time to be alive When thoughts and prayers Are the best some can do, Instead of working toward the care A potential maniac should have received, But good cheap healthcare Is a socialist nightmare, And owning a gun is the cure To the monster under the bed, And is the weapon of choice For the one in the head. Such a stupid time to try to survive The industrial complex Affecting the bank accounts Of our leaders in a positive way While erasing their consciences. Their brazen loyalties To the better, faster, More certain means of terminus, Clearly defines their idea of The worth of The rest of us. They believe it is stupid for us to be alive, Though without us They don’t survive. So, the weapons get better, And the laws get lo

  Tumbler   Un-teleprompted and unravelling, Conflicting paths travelling, Tongue-tied and tired as hell. Underhanded interviewed, Is he misconstrued, Or down to his last brain cell?   Sell the plasticine baubles, And the political foibles, Take the day off and cheat at golf. Try to sell JD, Try not to look shady, And above all, try to seem tough.   The words come tumbling, Coherence crumbling, Politics ain’t no cash cow. It’s all so troubling, Advancing stumbling, What can save him now?   Empty-headed and handed, Too well understanded, Russia comes knocking again. Slating the court dates, Not looking so great, Could be this means the end.   The words come tumbling, Coherence crumbling, Politics ain’t no cash cow. It’s all so troubling, Advancing stumbling, What can save him now?   The words keep tumbling, He keeps on fumbling, How much more is allowed? The tired grumbling, Incoherent and crumbling, Can

  You Let It    You let it happen again. You made it happen again. Childhood bloodshed and there’s no end, You let it happen again.   Multi-score murderer at only 14, How did he get ahold of that 15? What have you got by way of explanation? Just some more sorry twisted machinations.   You let it happen again. You made it happen again. Childhood bloodshed and there’s no end, You let it happen again.   Complicit conservatives all in a row, Lapel lover, how low will you go? Don’t forget the prize Margie said, Will the last train out of Georgia bleed red?   You let it happen again. You made it happen again. Childhood bloodshed and there’s no end, You let it happen again.   NRA backdoor open to one and all, And it’s schoolchildren not House brats that take the fall. It’s not your bank accounts that are in the red, No, it’s the body count of the innocent dead.   You let it happen again. You made it happen again. Childhood bl

    Pointless   Alpha backwards thought patterns thrust. High status mail-in order lost. Baby daddies wander away, Duties avoided: who cares what they say?   Ancient absurdity advanced aloud. Pencil-dick pushers showing proud. Incel bros must repress, Against any and all progress.   The pointless patriarchy, The macho mindfuck. In the end you’re only as strong As the people you protect. The pointless patriarchy, The macho mindfuck. In the end you will long For those you disconnect.   Limp-dicked and flabby-armed, Lining up to pass law to harm Those who can’t watch the graceless dance, Of immatures who can’t change their stance.   Soft-brained and open-mouthed, All their common sense headed south. What do you tell these lonely lads? Like Muddy said: “Can’t lose what you never had.”   The pointless patriarchy, The macho mindfuck. In the end you’re only as strong As the people you protect. The pointless patriarchy,

Dreamlife   In the dreamlife we held, We once heard the tree-song, To lull us to restoration After the long labor Tending to mother world And to the kin Sharing this earth And this life.   Tools we fashioned To ease our labors That we might loll beneath the boughs, Or laze by the shores. In the dreamlife we held, We became enamored Of our own cleverness, Coming to believe That life is not its own magic, And that we are the creators of wonders.   The lack in understanding Of the dreamlife we held Has led us to The fading of the world. How must we live now, How do we endure? Is this the passing of all things, Is there a cure?   Reminders there are, In deep wood, Out on the deepest ocean, Or caught in moon-ray Seen in glimpses Or found in your deepest sleep. In the dreamlife we held, Rooted memory dwells, Silver-edged, And too real to be entirely forgotten.   What path leads? What return may be followed?

  From the Ashes   Blindly in their towers, Corporate greeders sour, Scarring Mother Earth with deep gashes. Lied to by their shills, Handing us the bills, Still, they will deny the climate crashes. They look the other way, And shorten up our pay, Scarring us with credit debt lashes. They look upon us lowly, As we are buried slowly, And leave us half alive among the ashes.   In the ashes we are consigned, In the ashes we’re left behind, In the ashes here we grind, In the ashes we're not blind.   Trickle down lying, At fault denying, Satisfied the machine steady gnashes. They see down their nose, Saying we chose, Telling us that we thrive in their trashes. How do they slumber, Knowing our numbers Are they prepared for backlashes? Losing their power, Now is the hour – Afraid when we rise from the ashes.   In the ashes we are consigned, In the ashes we’re left behind, In the ashes here we grind, In the ashes we

  A Remembering   A remembering. He’d had a remembering. He did not want it. There was darkness in there. It was trying to get out.   An unordinary memory, Alive yet, And hungry. How had it come to be his? It felt Outside, Though he remembered his part, Though not how it ended, For here it was, Attempting to be once more.   Why was this his? Why was he meant to carry? Was he always to remember? Or should he forget?   To forget, An easing perhaps, A passage away, Or a means of escape?   The remembering, Not painless, Not at all, But less burdensome, Than allowing the thing To be free, And be invested in another, Or several others, Or more than that, And to find himself burdened With the guilt of the robbing of innocence.   So, he remembered. Then reminded himself To remember again soon. Soon. Too soon. Always too soon. Cliff Lake 8/31/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Dawnbreak   Long we endured the starless dark. Long we kept alive the spark. Long have we kept on keeping on, Long and long, we have awaited the dawn:   When the dawn comes, After the long and troubled night. When the dawn comes, When we step back into light. When the dawn comes, We will see what we’ve been fighting for. When the dawn comes, And we share the sun once more.   Long have they thwarted people’s will. Long have we fought our way uphill. Long have we been played as pawns, Long have we looked toward the dawn:   When the dawn comes, After the long and troubled night. When the dawn comes, When we step back into light. When the dawn comes, We will see what we’ve been fighting for. When the dawn comes, And we share the sun once more.   Long have they ignored the people’s need. Long have they succumbed to soiled greed. Long have we been fooled by misery’s spawn, Long has our strength gathered in the dawn:   Wh

  Pilgrimage   In a time beyond Time, Where sight has no meaning, And what is heard Was never spoken by Man, There the Truth dwells, Sung by silver bells, There you might understand. Light is always found there, Casting no shadow, No dark to conceal evil deed, Music is made there, Find all your aid there, And all of your fantasy freed. Old knowledge is told long, You heard it once, Spoken in the winds of dreams. It is the tale of your other life, Sung by the ivory fife, Buoyed by all that has been. Does the scent of the campfire Carry you on, Do the leaves whisper mysteries? Do you wander in daylight, Blinded by old sights, And sounds of all your histories? In the space between stars, Where you once knew more meaning, And light and music are one, What have you to share, This opportunity rare, Though your voyage has just begun. In a time beyond Time, Where sight has no meaning, And what is heard Was never spoken by

  Broken Eyed   Overheated or flooded, Look how we treat the land. War-torn and hot-blooded, Look how we treat the other man. Countries split down the middle, Ideologies instead of plans. No one to play second fiddle, No one to lend a helping hand.   Everything is so broken today, Who will apply the soothing salve? I wish I could see things a different way – These are the eyes I have.   These are the eyes I have, Seeing too little, Seeing too much. These are my eyes so blind, And I see all the broken things Beyond my touch.   Extinctions happening every day, Misinformed minds in a whirl. This mad scramble; in our own way, We are a cancer in this world. Creatures we think so little of, That cannot speak, so have no say. Why do we think we’re so above, As we wander so far astray.   Everyone is so broken today, Who has the soothing salve? I wish I could see things a different way – These are the eyes I have.   These

  A Miracle Ear   Shots ring out in Butler, PA, News that too soon fades away, Don’t need no Fed investigation, That might include some negation.   What did the secret stooges serve? Underperforming in a skewed curve. It’s okay folks, nothing to see here, Focus on the Magic Man and his Miracle Ear!   What the hell was that full stop? Are we supposed to eat this slop? Whadda ya gonna tell us now? Whadda ya gonna tell the cops? Assassination attempts Don’t include photo ops.   Maybe he was a Republican, But he followed Christ and collected guns, Was he also Antifa, that isn’t clear, But look at New Jesus and his Miracle Ear!   What the hell was that full stop? Are we supposed to eat this slop? Whadda ya gonna tell us now? Whadda ya gonna tell the cops? Assassination attempts Don’t include photo ops.   So, let’s all be good Republicans, It’s over now, over and done. We don’t need no FBI around here, Cuz, we have a Fat Sav

Final Battle   One final battle. That’s what he had left. One final battle, That’s what he could endure. One final battle – Not to win or lose, One final battle, The victory was in the doing. What had brought him here? Life. What could he take from here? Living, For there was no greater contest than that. He was girded in simply being, He was shielded by his every breath. The conflict before him, Was as every one previous: The winning was in the surviving, The loss was in the looking back, And the reliving a wrong. One final battle, A mantra. One final battle: A purpose. One final battle – The way forward. There is no cowardice in retreat, If one means to fight another day, If one means to fight through another day. For what shame is there in living, If one does the living As well as they are able. What shame is there in dying, If one has served life well? One final battle, He is ready. One final battle, He i

  A Quiet Roar   The silence. That’s always the first tell: One learns to listen For what is not heard.   The stillness surrounds, A lull for the unwary, What is unheard, Continues.   What has gone unsaid? The silence between the words, May tell more, Than what was purposed.   What meaning has the unspoken? What goes untold? What has yet to be said, And what lies between?   Have you said everything? Have you said anything? Have you spoken much, And said nothing?   Have you heard everything? Have you heard anything? Have you listened, And heard nothing?   What is left to be said? What is left to be heard? Why bother saying anything? Why bother listening?   There is much to be heard In the unspoken. There may be less to hear, In speech going on too long.   There is too much talking going on. There is too much silence after. Listen for those things left unsaid, Hear the silence between the words.  

  See a Man   See the empty man: Full of himself, Devoid of content. All is surface and shine, And what depth may be, Is replete with hunger, And a lust for What has yet to be attained.   See the clutching man: No denial of self, For the self is all, And central, And is ever starved, And ever fed, And never slaked. All in pursuit of bitter gain, Lost finally in internment’s dark embrace.   See the wanting man: Who wants for nothing, Wanting everything, Wanting more, Wanting adulation, Wanting recompense, For those things undeserved, And of little use.   See the dying man: Clutching at cold comfort, Inanimate pieces gathering dust, Plastic and packed away, Possessing him, As he counts them again, In support of his worth, Before the last breath escapes him, And he too is packed away With whatever May fit into a six-foot box, And that no one wants any longer. So it goes…   Cliff Lake 8/24/2024 Copyri

  Ass Backwards and Upside Down   Time moves on, it’s getting late in the day, Things aren’t going exactly as planned, And I’m baffled, not bewildered by what you say, Is there anything for which you stand?   The two sides of your mouth, Get together to tell one lie, How can we tell what you’re about, When there’s nothing you abide by.   Ego-dizzy and inside out: You’re the only person that you’re about. You opened your mouth, let slip the plan, Re-bag the feral cats if you can. Ass-backwards and upside down: We won’t follow you to crazy town.   Stumbling through the words you don’t mean, Drilling down into bizarre as you spin. You will never get away clean - Your bullying façade is wearing thin.   Is tomorrow a good day to start another grift? Still trying to sell your victim plea? How many more facts can you shift? The more you talk, the more we see:   Ego-dizzy and inside out: You’re the only person that you’re about. You

  Call To the Wild   Are they always lost to us now?   Where are the legends of mankind’s youth? Did they exist, where is the proof? Found in the mists between awake and asleep, Whispering tales from our dreams deep.   Sing under moonlight! Will they heed the call? Do they silently cry watching our long fall? Or perhaps they see and longingly wait, To rescue mere mortals before it’s too late…   Are they always lost to us now? Can we find them, do you know how? Can it be that they fear to be seen? Who drew down the shade in between?   Flee to the forest, find your faerie ring! Under the moon’s rays you must bravely sing! Cast fear and inhibition aside! Let your heart fly, there is your guide!   The oldest of forests hold the best chance: Your instinct will take you through ancient dance. Together we can put forth the call, Can we bring them home to save us all?   Are they always lost to us now? Can we find them, do you know how

  One Thousand Horsemen   The call of an ally, A friend of old: “We ask your aid! Will you be bold?”   “Ancient terrors, Assail once more! Will you honor The oaths we swore?”   One thousand horsemen answer the call,   One thousand horsemen riding tall. One thousand horsemen, they prepare. One thousand horsemen, forth they fare.   “We have no word, Are we not heard? Are we forgot? Do you come not?”   “The terror hails, Our people quail! We are beset, Will you come yet?”   One thousand horsemen upon the hill, One thousand horsemen, duty they fill. One thousand horsemen make the climb. One thousand horsemen, are they in time?   “What do we hear? Is succor near? Have you arrived? Will we survive?”   “Hail faithful friend! Fear not an end! Our hope has come, Sound the war drum!”   One thousand horsemen, banners raised! One thousand horsemen, unafraid! One thousand horsemen, charging in! One thousand ho

  Wool Brothers   The loss of the sense of self, To be a part of the whole, To be a part of a something, To release the burden Of thinking for oneself, How intoxicating!   Take a deep breath of irresponsibility – Now you are truly free! If you are not accountable for what you do, Then you can do no wrong! If you hold no liability for lack of action, You are blameless for the results!   Follow the leader, He knows what’s best, Why question someone Everyone else believes? That road leads only to exclusion, To loss of esteem of the group, To having to provide self-care.   Doesn’t it feel comforting To hear what you believe Repeated endlessly By everyone In simple language You don’t have to ask about To understand.   Wear the shirt, Wear the hat, Look like them! That’s where it’s at. Individuality is for someone else, Why express yourself, When it can be done for you?   Thinking is hard.   Cliff Lake 8/20/2

  The Real Fake News: Ninth Yard   Mike Lindell, the pillow guy, claimed he would try to infiltrate the 2024 Democratic Convention by shaving his moustache to disguise himself. So far, no Mike Pillow sightings are reported. In unrelated news, an unattached moustache has been seen in downtown Chicago spelling out “Libtard!” and threatening passersby with a straight razor.   Donald Trump, in an effort to sink the Democratic ticket, is threatening to begin endorsing Harris/Walz. It is said that upon hearing the news, Jamie Raskin did a spit take, while Lindsey Graham had to ask for a second box of Kleenex.   Having found themselves out of the news cycle for nearly a week, Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor Greene have scheduled a bare-knuckle bout. The event is to take place near the swing set during recess.   Catturd™ is reported to have recently realized that he has named himself after feces and is investigating rebranding. Purportedly he is considering “Dumbass™”, “Trum

  Wounded Sleep   I might have been three or four, When I took my first, not only scar, And I got my first, not only ride, In the back of a police car.   They called me a brave little man, Because I bled but did not cry. And I wish I was as brave as then, Because every night I die…   Some wounds go way too deep, Yet are not made by the knife. Some things just send you reeling, And the worst pain in your life, Could be the open one you’re feeling, When you try to sleep at night.   I have had my share of fights, And I have lost a few. But more I’ve had of sleepless nights, And there’s little I can do.   No stitches can close some wounds, They stay open to air. And you bleed soundlessly in your room, While you helplessly lie there…   Some wounds go way too deep, Yet are not made by the knife. Some things just send you reeling, And the worst pain in your life, Could be the open one you’re feeling, When you try to sleep at

  Rickety Ride   The busted machine, The loss of wheels evident, Running on greasy assurance And overheated air, Clicks, clanks, and grinds Too close to every precipice, Alarming the patrons, Its driver drunk on his own exhalations, The passengers hoping he makes a turn Before they all hit The big blue waves dead ahead. Hijacked tunes blare from buzzing speakers, Unpaid promises barely heard, And clearly, blearily misunderstood. Garishly colored slogans, Borrowed from the wrong times, And their worst heroes, Make no pretense to education, But promote imitation virtue, None aboard can or will practice. The sought destination Is now a hill This underpowered conveyance May drive past, But hardly climb. The riders begin to suspect They no longer head toward lofty seats, And high positions, But instead are inclined to dark obscurity, Dim remembrance in some low place, Relegated to a footnote few read, Less remember, And tha

  Dirty Windows   I remember so much from back then, Goals and ambitions, keen on the scent, The prize just out of reach and then, Confidence fails, that’s just how it went. Too many times I let things pass, So many things I let happen, I let them go Regrets are windows filled with dirty glass There was no way I could ever know.   I wish I would have been myself then, I wish I had been me. If I had been who I am, Well then, we would see.   If I could have been more of this, less of that, If I could have spent more of my time, “If” and “or” are things I could pick at, “If” is a word I did not rhyme…   I wish I would have been myself then, I wish I had been me. If I had been who I am, Well then, we would see.   Too many times we let things pass, So many things we let happen, we let them go Regrets are windows filled with dirty glass There was no way we could ever know.   I wish I would have been myself then, I wish I had bee

  The Who You Are   Who is satisfied as they are? Have you come to what you want to be? Or have you stayed right where you are: Forever young and forever at sea…   How do you know who you will be, The question heard from afar. No more, no less than those you see, How will you become who you are?   Did you think you would come this far? Are there yet things that will never be, Do you still care that there are? Have you failed that finally?   How far ahead did you see? Have you absorbed your scars? There are people you will never be, Have you become who you are?   Have you ever seen yourself from afar? Did you guess who you would be? Do you see yourself as you are? Or are there things you will not see?   Have you come to who you will be? Do you think you’ve gone too far, When will you let go and be free? When will you become who you are?   Who is satisfied as they are? When will you become who you are? How will you becom

  Last Words   He had done it, He had written the last words, The last words anyone would ever write. He had lived too long, Far too long, Never knowing why, Until the moment came, Until the last words were written, Needed written, Were written. He wrote them, And there was nothing left to say, For there was no one left to read them, Save for himself, And he already knew what they said, And why. He wrote them because.   It had begun slowly: They began taking books away, They began letting the computers read, They began letting the robots write, And when those things were complete, They stopped teaching altogether. When the robots did it all, There was nothing left to do, And people stopped doing anything. The Leisure Centers opened then, Advertised as Total Comfort and Ultimate Pleasure – Production became unnecessary, Reproduction became unnecessary When stimulation became Simulation. The Leisure Centers were blea

  Mystic Management   Secret knowledge, Arcane journal kept hidden, If you know, you know… Mystery ritual accessed by bank account, Credit score spirituality, University cash and carry know-how.   Spare me your enriched documents, What safety do you withhold? How dare you argue special learning, If you will not share without payment, If you choose to exclude. Do you question why I question?   Or have you misread? Does your understanding stumble? Have you fallen to your ego? Mistakes are made, Science moves forward despite you, Despite imperfect perception.   Missing understanding, Challenged by the unworthy, Or are they uncredited? Gird yourself in mystery then, Make your claim impenetrable To the uninitiated unpaid. Now you are protected, Now you may remain unchallenged, Now your superiority is secure. New knowledge need not assail, New discovery need not be accepted, Secrets you claim protect, And you may stand fir

  Brokentown   They would not speak of the Great Horror, So many years since have passed. They do not speak of the Tragedy, Too fresh in the mind; the die is cast. They do not speak of the children lost, Nor speak of their shared crime. They daily will ever count the cost, A broken town from a broken time. I chanced there once, a petty thief, I thought to be passing through – But Fate’s smile has hidden teeth, And Karma’s Wheel can roll over you. And though my sins were petty, They were of a myriad score, And I came there all unready, Stepping full through Twilight’s door. The man at the counter bid me well, But his eyes wished me away. The tense of his neck Spoke what he would not tell, I feel his glare crawl my back to this day. These streets seemed teeming and empty both, Citizens passed with their eyes cast down. Yet others seemed more excessively bold, Full glares with sharp teeth beneath a frown. Night arrived on swift silent

  Sunset Skies   Birth comes as the dawn, In our beds tended with care. What growth can we attain, What fruit will we bear?   Morning passes too soon, Bright promises bloom, But flowers fade with too much sun, The drying of them ever looms.   Sunset skies Ever before you. The dawn has gone, Night comes, And we all sleep.   Mighty oaks standing firm, Pines swaying in the breeze, What lessons must we learn? How do we avoid a freeze?   Roses climbing, pretty and thorned, The sunflower standing tall, Are we too sharp and yet adorned, Are we to become brittle and fall?   Sunset skies Ever before you. The dawn has gone, Night comes, And we all sleep.   The sunset sky is warm and fades, Warm yourself with its last rays. All have left, none have stayed, Even the sun too will fade away.   Sunset skies Ever before you. The dawn has gone, Night comes, And we all sleep. Sunset skies Ever before you. The daw