Dying.
In the morning
amidst the calm
fell a silken rain
a locomotive hissed
nuts and bolts were breast and bones
nothing can escape the melancholy tones
nothing will, nothing does
brushed aside the time we had
took away our far off Dad
Yet we hear of butterflies
coloured wings that dignify
they reach out, remember to us...
the departed
An arrow shoots into space
when it falls a soldier dies
a lover lives by the lies
for God is a God who cries
goodness through death survives
there are no answers hence no whys
We whistled down the meadow
Felt for life in a ghetto
criss-crossed the broken hillside
Will we see ghosts pass by
to those departed
harmony of soul, a pacified earth
heaven, and a world of dirt
Plants.
do they have eyes
to see
their beauty, no.
do they have ears
to hear the wind sing
in the leaves. nyet
do they have a nose
for perfume
indescribeable in prose
that wafts from the
flowers
incessant as a
mountain stream flows! Non.
held fast in soil
yet on the wind
they sway so
a plant can't smile
but then
why should it
a plant can't sing
how could it
but yet
it does
both these things
to a soul
constantly
and without fail
until it withers
and dies
from its own glow.
