Your faith in violenceYour faith in violence, it counts as faith.You’re sure that if you needed to, the gunsWould help. Or maybe guns are all. The safeAnd narrow path of power always runsAnd hides behind the guns. I noticed thatThe politicians count on guns, like popesAnd every stripe of those who tell us whatIs right and wrong. I’ve given up my hopesIn faiths that tie belief to guns and bombs.Those cowards everywhere, afraid of peace—They never tire of seeing graves and tombsAnd promising the soldiers death’s release.For money always needs a guard, and guards,A gun, and guns a faith, and faith, rewards.
When I was young I wanted to be sadWhen I was young I wanted to be sadFor therein lay the mystical and great,The noble bound to bathos. How I hadTo have some depth—experience was late,I thought, but I’d create the minor modeMyself through poetry and song and artJust like a baby mouthing “m”, the codeOf life rehearsing steps: I crawl, I dart,I play, on hearing minor keys, I cry.And one day soon, too soon, the losses came,The maiming, voiding kind, and pitches high,Too high for you to hear, and tears like rain.And all I wanted then were major keys,A shallow life, emotions in deep freeze.
The brook has changed with snow the last few daysThe brook has changed with snow the last few days,As if a baker frosted land and leftThe water clear of powder, see-through glazeReflecting sky, and spring's faint hope bereft.I'm grateful that the weather has a phase,Monotony the object of its theft.For after storms the sun resumes its raysAnd blankets of fresh snow are blown and cleft.You'd think that thick, new snow, with all its heft,Would make it hard to ever see the groundBeneath. But my small brook says, water's deft:The slowly melting snow is river-bound.The brook has changed with snow the last few days.I'm grateful that the weather has a phase.
The instant that you did not callThe instant that you didn't call was whenI realized how I hate to wait for whatI cannot make or fix: A need, a yen,A body crumbling to the ground, a chatWith God, a job, the feelings hurt beyondRepair. If only I could say I careMuch less. But no, I care, I care. I'm fondOf health and happiness and fresh, clean airAnd much the same for people I don't knowAround the globe. They say the new percentOf people destitute is rather lowCompared to centuries ago. RelentThe need for all, embrace the wealthy few.The instant that you didn't call, I knew.
I know that I was solid onceI know that I was solid once, a hardAnd quite substantial body. People saidHello and how are you. But now this shardOf self has turned to smoke. They walk insteadRight past (or is it through) the me they knew.I'm like the snow subliming on a mildYet wintry day. I didn't melt, I blewFrom crystal to a vapor, water wildTo change its state. Who knew this energyWould make a lonely place where no one stops.The rigors of invisibilityHave made me sad; my fragile spirit drops.Cool down, I tell myself, recrystallize.It's better to be seen than try to rise.