The joys of solitude
Only reveal themselves to you
If you can take yourself
For company.
Old Time
Time gasps at the mention of war,
She grasps her old head, bracing for
Another filthy dance of horror.
The Path Forward
I’ve walked this road for long, but now
I don’t know what to do
When on the way I find my path
Diverging into two:
One filled with thorn and bramble bush,
The other barren, dusty;
The former floral, beautiful,
The latter grim and fusty;
Now neither path is beaten yet
For both are solely mine,
And I can’t turn around to stem
The forward rush of time;
I see the paths join up ahead,
But first I must declare
Which one will be the one I tread
In order to get there;
I take my time and think about
The purpose of my quest,
And find that neither path can be
A place for me to rest.
And thus I choose the dusty path
And let the bramble be:
The lesser of two troubles is
The better choice for me.
There’s more I have to see.
Inspired by the prophetic exhortation to always choose the lesser of two evils.
Pasha’s Parrot
The featherbrained Pasha of Ghaali
Adopted a parrot named Polly.
He taught her times tables and hundreds of fables
Until in a moment of unguarded folly,
She flew through the stables in manner so jolly
And squawked of her hate for the Pasha of Ghaali.
It was the last thing that she said,
The next day, poor Polly was dead.
Eternal Love
They say: the pangs of hunger come with madness,
Excessive mirthfulness with gluttony,
While love eternal finds a guest in sadness
Begotten by a loss of company.
Being
When the lies that you spoke
And the truth that you hid
Bring more good than the sum
Of all good that you did…
Journey
When the destination is beautiful,
The journey will be beautiful.
No words
When what is without
Escapes every word,
Peer within:
Become what you witnessed
And heard.
The Envy of Madness
When you feel the pains
Of separation
From one you’ve never met,
When these pains of separation
Fill your eyes
With tears,
And when the tears overflow
Into your heart,
Softening it,
Rendering your limbs
Into agents of grace,
That is the sign of a love
That endures time and space;
A love that,
By its intensity,
Becomes the envy of madness itself.
Breadcrumbs
The leaves that we turn
And the bridges we burn
Remind us of places
Where we may return
If the turning and burning
Do little for learning.