So You Wish to be Deep?

So you wish to be deep,
a paradigm of wisdom.
And so quotes consul you keep,
that intellectual whoredom.

A collection of trivia,
comes forth from your mouth.
Inconsequential the capital of Bolivia, 
unless your from that far south.

In that quest you go,
becoming ever less honest.
You put on quite the show,
like an addled pianist.

And as they gaze in wonder,
at how you could be so bold.
Your bullshit tears your story asunder,
your act is growing old.

Rather than knowing,
you make it up on the spot.
Rather than showing,
you claim you'd rather not.

I speak for those who must listen,
when I kindly ask you to shut up.
Instead you with your mouth christen,
An intellectually shallow cup.

Phoneix

A single spark ignites,
something entirely new.
A tiny slivers of lights,
shine on a forsaken road.

Welcome to a new world,
now a bit less hard.
A new day unfurled,
passing on the old guard.

A rising sun,
kisses the earth.
A struggle is done,
We proved our worth.

All I can say,
as my cup flows over the brim.
....

Is thank you.

Tragedy

It was a tragedy,
they whispered.
Gossiped over blasphemy,
though they were uninjured.

They left no choice,
with their lack of thought.
Superstition given voice,
by what ignorance had wrought.

Such a simple thing,
looking the other way.
Listening to bells ring,
watching children play.

But a line was crossed,
because they were too proud.
A relationship lost,
because of condemnation too loud.


The one spring,
after so many tears.
They saw him swing,
and abate their fears.

Be careful how you judge,
when we're all not quite right.
You might just give a nudge,
To bring someone to endless night.

Shattered

He looked at the darkening clouds,
growing with the gathering crowds.
Faces falling with every beat,
there anxious stares he couldn't meet.

In him their faith so quickly placed,
power given and in it their dreams laced.
The rising tempo so quickly did abate,
as just as quickly arrived their morbid fate.

And as the rain began to fall,
the downpour grew to engulf them all.
Fiery souls were quickly quenched,
as all assembled were swiftly drenched.

His hubris led them far astray,
looking for some not oft beaten way.
And in his foolish vanity,
slowly slipped his sanity.

Fate did not ordain what had become of this,
and lucks tender touch did his people miss.
Towards ruin and suffering did they walk,
and stepping into the abyss they did not balk.

A lesson learned there was to be drawn,
even before the last drop of rain was gone.
A faith shattered but in it a faith renewed,
and through the break a new world viewed.

The Voice

Words, he said.
They should have power in meaning.

You just take words that sound nice,
and string them together.

Your voice,
it gets lost in the shuffle:

The shuffle you make,
with polysyllabic nonsense.

He said it with rising contempt,
and punctuated it with surfacing fear.

Your words are just that,
words.

Not thought thoughts,
not hopes, or dreams.

And as tears filled my eyes,
and reflections changed;

I saw what he really was,
and suddenly I understood.

He was a voice,
all but disembodied;

But for how tiny,
and frail he was.

It was like that body,
wasn't even there.

His voice was loud,
and commanding.

The skies trembled,
the earth shook at its sound.

The seas parted,
and retreated as a vanguard of the din.

Kings crowned,
and emperors turned to paupers in it's wake.

And all the world turned,
by such a mighty sound.

But now I could see,
from whence it came.

A miserable,
tiny;

forlorn,
beaten;

wretched,
barely human man.

And I turned to him,
"No they are, just not yours."

"Yours have already died",
and then finally so did he.

And then, my softer voice issued forth,
and false kings were torn down.

Wise Emperors rose,
from piles of filthy rags;

And resumed a silent watch,
responding to their peoples call.

And the seas rushed,
to fill long parched voids.

The earth quieted,
the skies relaxed.

And yet still the world turned,
even though he had passed.

And so a new age dawned,

Myopia

Reverently it rested,
faithfully it waits.
Once it power crested,
its impact abates.

We tell the stories,
as we'd like them.
Tales of past glories,
our bright shining gem.

The sharp contrast,
fades away.
As we go from the past,
only the bright stays.

But that we could see,
what we've done.
The story by decree,
tells us none.

If we could know,
what there was.
Then we could grow,
if not because,

The time is coming,
when checks are cashed.
And we'll be paying,
for a dark past.

We won't know what we did,
to earn this dark strife.
And so of our oppression rid,
and with it take another life.

On and on this dance will play,
because we let the truth die.
Never to see a brighter day,
Because we could not say "it was I".

Him

He hadn't much to say that day,
when the world was brought to its feet.
He didn't know the price he'd pay,
as he strolled on down the street.

It wasn't that he couldn't see,
the road that lay ahead.
Or that he wasn't free,
for he still could have fled.

He simply didn't care,
to run or hide again.
Nor did he really think,
he could let it all begin.

It seems he knew the choice,
for it sat right there before him.
His doubts he could not voice,
the outlook seemed so grim.

And so he walked on in life,
waiting for something true.
His world so full of strife,
He could hardly pass on through.

The moral of his story,
is that you must take a step.
Even if you lack for glory,
your time is never kept.