All is vanity, the lamentations scream
The Buddhist say this is but a dream
and dogmatic wars of philosophy rage
as the historian writes another page
What is the reason, the season of poetry
to confront treason at the foot of an apple tree
some say eat, drink and be merry for life is short
to smile, to frolic to fight and die with a cohort
Some are bitter, snide, and rude
but they challenge us with bitter food
they think they own us, with insult
but alas what is the final result?
Some would say "serve the lord"
and cross the baptism's ford
to fight a spiritual war, it's true
but there the resentments grew
I might not be a poet, so you say
but you failed to define it in any way
I sing, I dance, I love, and I work
and my aspirations may just be a quirk.
These words, yes these very words
are to me and to some; gentle song birds
to admire rebellion from false authority
to be something in my obscurity.
To endorse the energy of existence
alliterated in some primal persistence
to evolve and grow into something more
to cross the threshold, that ancient door
If I died today, would I mind?
what meaning would I find
as death's degeneration processed
was I then just obsessed.
Oh pompous critic examine me well
point out spelling errors and where I fail in hell
if such is where we are destined for
to cite Poe's raven, this nevermore
The Buddhist say this is but a dream
and dogmatic wars of philosophy rage
as the historian writes another page
What is the reason, the season of poetry
to confront treason at the foot of an apple tree
some say eat, drink and be merry for life is short
to smile, to frolic to fight and die with a cohort
Some are bitter, snide, and rude
but they challenge us with bitter food
they think they own us, with insult
but alas what is the final result?
Some would say "serve the lord"
and cross the baptism's ford
to fight a spiritual war, it's true
but there the resentments grew
I might not be a poet, so you say
but you failed to define it in any way
I sing, I dance, I love, and I work
and my aspirations may just be a quirk.
These words, yes these very words
are to me and to some; gentle song birds
to admire rebellion from false authority
to be something in my obscurity.
To endorse the energy of existence
alliterated in some primal persistence
to evolve and grow into something more
to cross the threshold, that ancient door
If I died today, would I mind?
what meaning would I find
as death's degeneration processed
was I then just obsessed.
Oh pompous critic examine me well
point out spelling errors and where I fail in hell
if such is where we are destined for
to cite Poe's raven, this nevermore
