Fast Impact

Fast impact

With little for sustain

Sustenance or compounded frame

How can we be so quick

To change

Change judgement

Words

Rearrange meanings and then

Come back to the same

What is it that can revolve

A door then disappear in moments

How can this happen overnight

Into the bright light

No one has it right

No one has it right

 

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Bequeathed

I cry cowardly over my leather shoes

The moan of hateful speech

Beacons a new wrath

The exotic clover has grown

Dried up and shriveled

Bequeathed

For the next generation

A sensational generation

My hope and dream

So I do my part in planting hope and optimism

Even in this world of ever deep division

Our hopes and dreams

Bequeathed from our fathers and mothers

Have been squandered away

On cheap things

 

 

 

 

The Rally Cry of the Tired

The rally cry of the tired

A worthy cause flamed out with vigor

Passing floating rolling

I have tried

To do good

Good to be undone

So much has to rely on a rally cry

When your tired

And lonely

Not alone

You feel sad

Disconnected from the world

How did it work out not the way it was

All planned

A plane in flight unmanned

The plane now is in the final descent

It will land

How

Unknown

But through all of this

I

We

Have grown

Grown up

So here we come

The Salesman of Song

The Salesman of Song

Born to the middle class

They called him Joe

Full of talent

Full of song

Bringing to life

People’s wishes and thoughts

Make people cry or laugh

Whatever he sought

Growing up he took it so lightly

Musicians were not like him

Seemed to flighty

Years had passed

The pressure had grown

To make some money

Have some kids

Own a home

Through all he had been taught

All he had learned about

Never had the nerve

To sing his way out

See what songwriting could earn

So he went to school and got a degree

Went on to teach middle school until he was 53

Then came the recession

The ugly layoffs

He got caught up in the process

Now he had no job

His paycheck is much less

Would push a mower with his hands

Making sure the kids were fed

Keeping steady the natural family plan

Took out a loan and went back to school

No one ever thought this man a fool

Earned a PHD

Still struggling to find what he wants to be

He writes books on religion

Sells them at the doorstep

He knows that he missed

Stumbled when he could have leapt

He just writes songs on the side

Did it all along

Never had faith to make a living

Writing a song

He sells the idea to the young generation

Asking people for help

Feels the weight of procrastination

In a hole so deep

Playing songs so beautiful to the ear

But no singing can anyone hear

He is too old to try out new tunes

Wants to pay off the house and retire soon

He clearly knows years ago

Where it all went wrong

All that is left

Is the Salesman of Song