‘That's a load off my mind,' he said
with a grin, taking off his heavy helmet
and placing it on the table, it tilted
under the weight, his head
was wet with sweat when he sat
weary from all the exertion
of a day's battle running the gambit,
dodging bullets, lobbing grenades,
and wondering about desertion
when death opened its jaws
then passed him by for another day.
It hadn't been advertised this way.
Adventure, learning new skills,
stretching your potential
and rising up the ranks to become
more than you are right now.
Providing, he thought dryly,
you can stay alive for long enough
if Fate will be merciful and allow
you to come home still breathing
and not in a silk lined coffin.
He poured himself a coffee
black and strong with six sugars
to boost his energy for another round,
exchanged a brief word with a draftee
shit scared and missing his Mum,
before retrieving his helmet once more
and going out again to fight this bloody war.
On distant Shores
On distant shores where dwells the stranger,
we live in fear of otherness and cultures
unfamiliar, and build walls to keep them out,
but demand peace between our peoples
and our nation while perceiving them as threats
to all that we hold dear. Never truly knowing
what that means, but there is a general idea
that what we have is better than the stranger's.
And so we keep the doors shuttered
should they come near, or dare to approach
our shores for fear that we'll be overrun
and have to share some of our good fortune
with the stranger, who seems uneducated
and poor compared to us because the work
they do is low and humble. It does not cross
our minds they may well be far more educated
than most of us, but the stranger is seen
as a lesser being, here to take welfare,
our housing, or do us harm and generally
seems to be a threat, though why, we're not sure.
Culture shock leads us to take flight,
the stranger has ways we find peculiar,
or even scary, their clothes are not like ours,
they believe in different things from us,
their gods aren't like ours, their rituals
alien and therefore threatening to be around.
Their language is not ours, their way of talking
loud, expressive unlike ours, except when drunk
we are not loud we think. Shut the doors,
the stranger demands too much, openness
of heart and hearth is too higher a price to ask.
And so we close ourselves off from learning
that the other's needs and yearning
are just the same as ours. Beneath the skin
we're all the same, just trying to survive,
by overcoming prejudice and staying alive.
The rocks like sentinels
line the route onto the heath.
Large and imposing, a mystery
where they came from
or where they go to either.
All along the way, sunlight
filters through the silver railings
by the water works and birds
sing out their Spring time melody.
A tarmac road gives way
to sand and earth, a natural path
to take you onto the true Heath
stretching for miles in all
directions, shining brightly
today under clear blue skies
criss crossed with trails
of planes and butterball clouds
with bird song filling the air beneath.
Few walkers out today, all is still
and all the signs of Spring
are there ready to herald it in
when temperatures rise
and cold winds drop to welcome
new buds on the trees and shrubs,
wild flowers in the hedgerows
and gorse and heather wait
for the kiss of warmth
to allow a riot of colour to begin.
A precious space on which to walk
and contemplate life and talk
of dreams, of hopes, of a concern,
and, in the tranquillity all around,
find a solution or a new way
of thinking and solving problems.
A friendly smile to fellow walkers
with a nod to their various dogs,
a pause to admire the wonderful views,
and always something new to learn.
Laughing softly in her dream
she drifted upward, lightly
landing on a pink flamingo
tinted cloud with a silver
lining. Doves of grey
wove patterns in the sky
as she pirouetted full of grace
clothed only in her gypsy lace.
Above her soared an eagle
golden against the bright sun
majestic in its flight,
it spread its broad wing span
for her to climb upon
then rose heavenward
before it swooped down
and, bowing, let her off gently
before departing proudly.
Her body glowed with energy
filled with life's vitality
as she raised her arms
and opened her lungs
to release a call heard by all
with ears to hear, wild
and free it carried on the wind
to the four corners of the earth
and heralded a glorious new birth.
A chariot born on the winds of desire
rises heavenward fired with love
for one to whom the gods would adore
if they could see her beauty, but alas
they are no more, but she lives
walking the earth with sylphan tread
and it, in turn, blesses where her feet
did touch with sweet scented flowers
to fill the air with perfume, an invite
for the bees to come suckle in their hearts
and fill their hives with honey fit for a queen.
The earth in form of Gaia, sublime of form,
leans down to drink from ice cold streams
flowing from the deepest sources
within caverns long hewn to cathedral size
and fed from glaciers of ancient days.
She rises up to see the mighty mountains,
sharp tipped and kissed with snow
traversing horizons amidst the low lying
clouds and mist hailing mystery and myth.
Then turns to see the valleys, deep and green,
and forests clothing land with trees
so old they recall knights and kings
who rode in battles bold through them
once on steeds emblazoned with their arms,
now long gone and silent for a while
before the warriors return to turn their peace
to torment once again and fell them
for weapons or for fires. She shed a tear
when she perceived their sad lament,
and moved on to pastures new, a city
shining brightly, looking pristine in its hue.
Ancient in her wisdom and her knowledge,
she stood surveying the human dwelling
with its sky scrapers and towers,
its busy streets and cars flowing
like blood through its veins,
and lights consuming power and energy
constantly without attention to the price
on the earth, and saw the people
scurrying to and fro like tiny ants
but not so ordered, mostly in disarray,
each seeking their own destination
caught up in their own purpose
with few seeing their impact upon her
as she smelled the air polluted
with chemicals and dirt, which hurt
her lungs and made her eyes weep.
She turned away, and walked in thought
until the night descended and contemplated
what to do to heal the earth of such abuse,
but nothing came to mind, the options
were too harsh for her to deem acceptable
so with a heavy heart, she gave one last look
at her realm and sank back beneath the soil
until a new day dawned when, once again,
she could walk the earth with delight
and relish the splendour of the sight
of healthy flora and a multiple of fauna,
and the only sound was Nature's harmonies
composed of the sounds of birds and bees,
and animals communing, when the cities
had all returned to the earth, and humans
learned to cherish Gaia as a precious gift.
The Errant Laptop
Patience is a virtue so I'm told.
It's printed somewhere in letters bold,
but I seem to fail almost every day
in either a small or big way.
Today, it's with an innocuous laptop
which has put me in a right strop.
They have to be the most annoying,
irritating, infuriating and piddling
machines ever created by geeks
who just enjoy being freaks
when it comes to writing software
that simply won't work for hardware!
I've stood on my head, kept my cool,
began to think I must be a fool,
but whatever I tried the glitch
was determined to be a bitch,
in other words, a pain in the arse
making all my efforts a damned farce.
Sadly, I've had to admit defeat,
I've tried reboot, re-install, and delete
and not a single thing has worked,
and, before I get, completely irked,
I'm going say ‘that's it' I'm away
because I need my sanity for another day.
The Stranger's Way
‘There's a light at the end of the tunnel.' He said.
I couldn't see it but took his word for it.
I didn't know him. He came out of nowhere
when I was lost and said he knew the way.
I wondered how as I hadn't told him where I lived.
‘Come on.' He said. ‘Follow me, it's not far now.'
The road seemed to go on forever, and every curve
hid what was ahead from view and I never knew
what was round each corner, but he walked
steadily in front of me assuring me all would be well
It sounded a bit like a hard sell, but being lost
I felt I had no alternative but to trust in him.
The sky was dark and foreboding, a drizzle fell
but he stayed dry I noticed while I got wetter
and wetter as it changed to rain, and then the wind
came, but he did not slow down, nor did he look back
to see if I was still with him. He began to pull ahead
and fear swept over me. I called out for him
to slow down, please, I can't keep up, but his gait
stayed the same and I thought I heard him laugh,
not a pleasant one, but with a suggestion of malice
in its tone. I stopped and, suddenly, so did he.
‘Why aren't you following me?' He asked.
I regarded him with consternation before replying.
‘I can't keep up. You walk too fast.' I said.
He gazed down at me. ‘You said you were lost,
I heard and came to rescue you. Keep up.' He said.
There was no warmth or compassion in his voice.
‘I don't need your help.' I said. He looked startled.
‘What will you do? How will you find your way?'
He asked, his demeanour changing to confusion.
‘I'll find my own way home.' I said. ‘Your help,
I fear, is far too costly. You're not giving your
help to me for free, are you?' I said. He frowned.
‘Nothing in this life comes for free.' He laughed
with the same tone again. ‘Surely a lesson
you've learned by now.' ‘Then I don't need
your help.' I said. ‘Return to wherever you came from,
and leave me.' His face turned into a grimace.
‘You think you can find your way home on your own.
Let me tell you of all the pitfalls and obstacles
in your way, and then tell me you'll find your way.'
I sighed now cold and very wet, but filled with a new
sense of well being, I smiled at him. ‘The only
way I'll find my way is on my own, not with
your help, or any other. My road may well be long
and hard, but it's mine and, if I do get lost a little
along the way, it's up to me to get back onto it again.
So, stranger, be on your way. I cannot accept
your help because I don't know you, and to trust
you would require a leap of faith you do not merit.'
‘Very well,' he said, ‘I'll leave you lost and wandering
in the dark, but, if you find one day, you're truly lost,
you only have to call, and I'll come back for you.'
And, suddenly, I was alone again. The road ahead
had reached another curve concealing my future
once again but now, with grim determination, I began
to walk ignoring the rain and wind and, as I turned
the curve, I saw the bright lights of a city in the distance
and smiled for, while the stranger had walked with me,
leading me his own way, I saw that I had not been lost
at all, but the darkness of the night had simply hid
what lay in front for me to see if I had continued
walking along the road that was mine alone,
and any who chose, with their own free will,
to accompany me. At that moment, the rain stopped
and the wind dropped and the sunrise broke over
the horizon, and the world was full of light again.
Azure blue cloudless skies
lift our spirits and open our eyes
to horizons distant and new
and bring Hope with such a view.
Grey, overcast skies
depress us and close our eyes
to all that lies on the horizon
and has the ability to dishearten.
Puff ball clouds drifting in our skies
bring pleasure to the eyes
as they ride the soft breeze
with laid back consummate ease.
Thunderous dark clouded skies
bring fear and close our eyes
with dread of things to come
when Nature throws a tantrum.
The moods of the earthly skies
is reflected daily before our eyes,
a gift, a warning, a wondrous display,
a peek at heaven or at doomsday.
Sunsets and rises across the skies
bring fiery colours before our eyes
reminding us that every dusk and dawn
is a gift for those of us fortunate to be born.
Without the wonder of the skies
the heavens would be closed to our eyes.
Be glad there are no curtains
to conceal the stars in their gazillions.
Listen to the song in your heart,
to the beat of the pulse
that fills your world
with a rhythm from the start
to the finish of your life.
From a joyful melody
to a heartfelt lament,
from a calypso to a dirge
to a symphony,
each fitting a particular mood.
Without music we wither.
Nature herself writes it
with wondrous sounds
to set us all a quiver
when the harmonies resound.
The universe plays its own tune
with the dance of the spheres,
orbiting in unison
as they whirl in perfect attune
with space, time and matter.
Rejoice that music lives on
in our world when all seems lost.
It can raise us up when cast down
and calm us when sanity has gone.
Play on oh precious gift so sublime.
Does the acquisition of a tranquil mind
imply that all passions have been quelled?
Can you still have passion welling up inside
when you come face to face with injustice,
greed, destruction, war, corruption to
name but a few of our problems, heinous
to behold and could render the earth lifeless.
How can the mind stay tranquil when viewing
the multiplicity of problems facing humankind
today, or should we regard them as simply there
and, in time, will be resolved so turn away?
I have not resolved this issue yet,
I said when I was young, if I stop caring
passionately for a better world, a peaceful
one, I would have died inside, and become
a waste of time and space, something shameful.
Now, in the dawn of my third age,
I'm still on fire with yearning, for discerning
that which could be good, for discarding
that which is so destructive and trying
with all my being to retain a tranquil mind
but failing when I listen or see man's
inhumanity to man displayed before me
every day. It's not a lack of hope
that takes hold of me but a passion
full of fire and ire that there's still
so much stupidity and ignorance
raging round the world when the answer
is to stand still and really see
what we have, what we're doing,
and what could be if we only stopped
for once and see the other instead of only me.
Poor wee mousey.
Sneaky mouse you will not scroll
no matter how many times
I tweak it, the screen won't roll,
up or down, it just stays still.
Then I discover it is not you,
poor wee thing, you've fallen
prey to MS's traps for unwary
visitors to its domain. It lays
them for the unsuspecting
intruders by blocking certain
facilities like scrolling.
Competition in this life
makes life a pain for everyone,
particularly in computing
when software clashes
bring about annoying crashes.
When hardware just won't work
because incompatible with one
part and the system throws it out
before you've even clicked on run.
Sitting proudly is my monitor
alongside is the mighty tower
with all its innards working,
with Windows dominating
the scene and deciding
what will work and what won't,
it really is too much at times,
but that's the price we pay
when a single company
holds such world wide sway.
I wonder if we'll ever see the day
when every bit of software
or hardware that we buy
is greeted on every computer
with ‘Your hardware is now working
or your software has been installed
and we hope you have a great day.'
Sweeping the dregs away
Sweeping the dregs away
of past mistakes, abandoning
guilt for imagined failings,
clearing heads of half
forgotten crimes and minor
some minds and makes of life
a hell, burdened with strife
struggling with a sense of doom
in a self-imposed purgatory.
Errant thoughts that plague
minds making nightmares
real, fantasies of wrongs
never done or perceived to be.
Sins unforgivable and heinous
turn out to be paltry
blown out of all proportion
by other minds suffering
from delusions of grandeur
their mind sets a deformation.
The acquisition of serenity
comes not with torturing
the mind with images of hell,
but with acceptance of frailty,
of ignorance and circumstances
beyond control, where no blame
can be allotted for none knew
what would happen
when decisions were made
in the darkness of the moment
and bore fruit so wanton.
Time alone can heal the mind
by letting go of illusions
that wickedness is inborn.
One deeply cruel delusion
perpetrated for a purpose
of domination and control.
The liberation of the mind
from such a distorted view
needs to be the pursuit
of all caught within its net
and, maybe, peace will come
again to all still so beset.
Infancy is a time for growth
When the world
begins to form you
in its own image.
Youth is a time for adventure
When all the world
lays wide open
Adulthood is a time for challenges
When the world
on your options.
Middle age is a time for gathering
When the world
gives you space
to consider your life.
Old age is a time for reflection
When the world
ceases to be your oyster
as you contemplate your end.
Life is a time for becoming
When the world
opens many doors
then closes them all again.
The Light in our Lives
Reach out and touch a heart
with a love that gives
without asking a return
for we all yearn
to be cherished by another.
Reach out and embrace the other,
hold tight the one you love
for we all need a hug
by tender arms so snug
and be enfolded for a while.
Reach out and kiss the other
with lips that truly care
on hand, or lips or face
and see the other's grace
shining through their eyes.
Reach out to young or old
for no age does not need love.
Not a single human being
can thrive if it is lacking
for it is the light in all our lives.
Forsooth, he said, you have quickened me.
He gazed with awe upon the maiden's face,
her body too so enwrapped with comely grace.
He fell to his knees to take her hand
wishing to declare his undying devotion
but she stared haughtily down on his adoration.
Stepping round him, she walked straight on
without a second glance at this strange klansman.
Bemused, bewildered and somewhat shocked,
the stricken knight rose to observe her departure,
perceiving his attempt to woo her being mocked.
Ire followed on with unholy haste to replace
that which so soon before was undying love.
Somehow, she had to pay for his disgrace.
Mounting his steed, he rode with speed
back to his kingdom far to the North
determined now to make her heart bleed.
For a month or more, he brooded deep and long
then decided to make a plea to his king,
his need of a high born wife now so strong.
The king, seeing the plight, of his mightiest knight,
promised to get him his chosen bride.
So, quickly sent the foreign king an invite
and a gift of great renown, a jet black steed,
chosen from his finest herd, and his request
that the maiden, oh so fair, could proceed
with marriage to his honourable knight.
The answer was slow in coming but come it did,
together with the steed. It was a rebuff,
too much to take. The thwarted king
declared a state of war and, in a mighty huff,
sent his army in to capture the haughty maid
and bring her bound and tied to his side.
Success was his, and the war was won,
His knight, with voice so loud, in triumph cried
‘All hail the king' as he rode into the castle
The haughty maid across his pummel
Weeping copious tears and feeling shameful.
Setting her upon her feet, the knight strode
up to the king and declared she was his prize
despite her scorn, on her his troth he had bestowed.
She, realizing this was her fate, bowed her head
and submitted to his will, agreeing to marry him.
Then great were the celebrations on that day
as the knight did take the haughty maid so trim
and, from that day, they became as one,
with him kneeling at her feet, and she berating
him for every little fault and failing.
He just smiled and took it all because a war
had been fought to gain this beauteous bride
who grew to become large and extremely round
and the knight grew deaf and extremely slender
from fleeing with great haste when her tongue
lashed him cruelly then returning wiser and older,
but still seeing only the maiden's face and comely grace.
Your own path.
In time, we come to learn
the hard way to discern
that life may be joyous
but also full of bitterness.
It may be exciting,
but also deadly boring.
It can be thrilling,
but also utterly terrifying.
It can sweep us off our feet
but also completely defeat.
It can wipe our hope away
but also restore it another day.
It will bring about the unforeseen
but also be mundanely routine.
Whatever the path we take
there can be no mistake
the one we're on is ours alone
chosen by us as our very own.
We can bemoan our lot
over what we've got
but every decision we made
is the price we've paid
to arrive where we are today.
So accept that this is your way,
rejoice that you've survived this long
without going too far wrong,
Now, set your feet on the land
and go on with life holding your hand.
The Drama Queen
In light quick mood she shifted with a zoom
from happiness to deepest gloom.
There was no room for in between,
it was all or nothing for this drama queen.
Flying on emotions higher than a kite
she swept across the heavens in her flight
knowing she was awesome to behold,
a mighty warrior so beautiful and bold.
Then down to the deepest depths of despair
she would plunge into her own private warfare.
None could approach when in high dudgeon
as her temper tantrums began to burgeon.
From high to low she lived her life
sometimes sweet at others wrapped in strife.
A pill could take care of these mood swings
but she declared they clipped her wings.
So the drama queen lived in extremes
existing in her nightmares and her dreams,
but no one could say she was boring,
she was both wondrous and thoroughly alarming.
The Turning Away
A gentle hand that drew me in
caressed my cheek and dried my tears
while I, deep wrapped in grief,
pulled back and shut him out.
Would that I could have seen
how deep the wound in his own heart
but all that I could feel was mine
bleeding and in so much pain
from being torn asunder
with no warning that our worlds
would plunge into an abyss
so suddenly there, a pit of blackness.
No tears he seemed to shed
while mine flowed unceasing
as I wailed and lamented our loss.
Shattered into a million pieces,
my mind could not believe
that he was gone, he would return,
not gone, not gone forever.
It was agonizing to conceive.
In time, I let him in again,
wrapped my arms around him,
caressed him and let him dry my tears,
but those times when I had turned away
had left their scars in both of us,
which time patches over but can never
completely wipe away or heal.
We show our gods to the door
when they've served their purpose
and replace them with the latest model
ready to pick up the poor,
to convert past festive days
to new concepts and ideas
emerging out of the minds of men
to change the people's ways.
As history will bear witness
the new is rarely the better.
Bloodshed and mayhem result
before the new is hailed a success.
Then comes the hunkering in,
the destruction of idols of old,
the undoing of mind sets,
a priesthood formed to cast out sin.
And the ancient gods retreat
to lick their wounds and observe
how the new gods differ from them,
and watch the rise of a new elite.
Princes clothed is sumptuous raiment
strut in palaces lined with gold,
hands are kissed and men adored
as the new gods demand payment.
Each new manifestation of a deity
brings with it man's preoccupation
with power, domination, subjugation,
and an innate desire for immortality.
When the old refuse to yield
bloody battles ensue until one god
comes out on top or cedes defeat
by acquiescing and its fate is sealed.
One day people may grow weary
of these endless conflicts for supremacy
and abandon all these deities
refusing to be led up yet another blind alley.
But, until that day comes, the immortals
will continue demanding adoration,
putting conditions on their benevolence
before petty humans can enter their portals.
And people may realize that each new god
comes out of their own minds
embodying their current hopes and dreams
and their need to walk on paths untrod.
Then humans will reach maturity,
casting aside the childish,
the need for parental approval
and cease turning to gods for their security.
Rosy red, an apple for you,
take it, dear, I'm offering it to you.
You fear to eat it, it's just a gift,
nothing bad will happen to you.
Don't walk away, this is a fairy tale,
my child, and I'm on your side.
I would die before a hair on your head
was harmed. You'll soon be a bride,
eat of this apple and it will put a bloom
on your pale cheeks, which I fear
you have acquired from sitting alone
in your castle tower for many a year.
You say your father warned you of me
but your father has no knowledge of me.
Who am I? You ask. I will tell you,
but, first, please take a bite from my gift
to you. No, ah well, I cannot tell you
then for you would never believe me.
Is the apple bewitched? You ask.
See yonder tree, my dear, I picked it no more
than ten minutes ago. There, take a bite,
taste its sweet juices from its core.
What, you feel rather faint. Sit, my dear,
the sun so bright has made you hot, sit
and I will tell you who I am be not affright.
Before you close your soft blue eyes,
look into mine, deep and clear, and see
your future reflected here. Be not afraid,
for do you not recognize me, child?
I am you, long grown into old age.
I came back to warn you of a grave danger.
The man you are to marry is not for you.
Find a way of saying no to being his bride
for he is not of this world inside. Say
you understand, my dear, and will heed
my words. A nod will do. That's good,
now close your eyes and sleep a while,
and, when you wake, you will remember
my warning about this man so vile,
and, please, for your sake and mine,
return to our father mild most hastily
and beg him rescue you from this monster.
There, there, my child, sleep in peace
for I must return before he misses me.
Not a word broke the silence,
not a sound stirred the old church yard.
A solitary cat stretched luxuriously
across an ancient tomb stone
making a lie that it was rock hard.
A zephyr brushed the leaves
to stir them into life but they just
yielded to its touch with a gentle bow,
a swallow sat on its nest in the eaves
while the church nestled amidst the trees.
Peace reigned supreme beneath the cedar
majestic in its realm, its branches
stretching out like age old arteries.
A wooden seat gnarled sat below
provided a place to sit and contemplate
the beauty all around and flowers' scents
wafted perfume in the air as thoughts flow
when all is still and calm in a sanctuary
from all the madness of the world.
A rare gift in the centre of a busy village,
a moss covered wall its boundary.
The mighty tree has claim on a heart
for now in the shelter of its shadow
the last resting place of a gentle soul
forever enfolded and never to part.
Playing with words.
Play with words, jumble them about
and what do you get? A poem, a letter,
an essay, a book or, something better,
a joke. Throw them in the air
and play catch if you can
chasing them as they ran
out of your pen, your keyboard,
your pencil and onto a screen,
a page, a scrap of paper to be seen
for the first time in their own space
making sense, nonsense, uplifting,
appalling, scaring, humouring,
hiding the truth behind rhetoric,
exposing lies and breaking down
myths and revealing the clown
behind the genius, the politician,
the egoist, the Royals, the celebrities,
the devious, ruthless, the authorities
on everything, the experts, the critics,
the novelist, the biographer, the men
of science, history, life, their acumen
judged by their handling of words
flowing from minds honed to manipulate,
cajole, influence, and procrastinate.
Such is the power of the written word,
the spoken word, the secret word,
spoken through the centuries but heard
is another matter, most go in one ear
and out the other without engaging
because disturbing, annoying, enraging
or alternatively inciting pleasure,
delivering a message, preaching a sermon,
a key speech, an incitement to be human.
Tame the wild spirit.
Tame the wild spirit that would take flight
Soaring to the heights of delight
And returning to earth with gifts from above.
A vision of love born on the wings of desire,
A Universe imbued with hope not an empty void.
The earth a womb with an immature foetus
Taking form against the odds waiting to be born.
All in flux, chaos yielding to order for a time
Then reverting to mayhem again for the new
To come into being. Stand still and die
All must change, all must grow or pass away.
Overcoming the primal urges demands wisdom.
Casting aside that which restrains, imprisons,
Anchors to achieve full potential demands courage
To set out on a path not laid out any more.
To walk blinded by a vision of light
Overwhelming night, a new insight.
A new dream, a new hope coming to birth
In pain and suffering, between thighs
Straining for millennia to achieve what could be
But is not yet, with cries and wails,
Full of pathos and joy, the new does not arrive
Without great travail and much hard labour.
Beware lest the night sets out to destroy the light
And brings to birth a still born foetus.
The signs are there to see, the warnings
loud and clear, but ears grow deaf
And eyes won't see, and lips are silenced
In the racket of a false reality taking hold
Of mind and heart, and leading feet
The wrong way. Ever onwards, life
Strides seeking the better, the new,
But death stalks not far behind ever trying
To swallow each new start, each new day.
All that remains is hope, an unending hope,
Unbroken, determined, fragile, but always there.
Lose that and all is lost, the new will never come,
The old will win, and death will triumph
Amidst a world full of infinite potential
Squandered and thrown away for nought
But a bag of tricks and cheap thrills.
So much to lose, so much to gain,
And always a choice between two sides,
Despair versus hope, the night versus the light.
It's the ongoing battle for all that is human.
Take away the joy, the hope, the fun
and what have you got? A great big
bore. Life isn't like that. It rolls
along like a roller coaster and none
of us know where it's going
as it climbs up to the sky
then hurtles down the slope again
with no rhyme or reason why.
Buoyant in the hope that life
is good, start each day with a smile.
If you open your eyes with scowl,
it will leave you full of strife
and growling angrily all day.
Get out of bed and greet the morning
for you've no idea whether you'll be here
by midday , let alone the evening.
Life has a habit of springing a surprise.
It doesn't wait to be invited
before something happens to shock.
So be prepared should this arise,
but know, it can carry you along
and, providing you hold on tight,
will make sure you arrive in a place
where everything is all right.
The roller coaster doesn't stop
it just keeps on going all life long.
With ups and downs, twists and curves,
and carrying you atop
its brightly painted seating.
So settle down and enjoy the excitation
and realize there's no getting off
until it pulls in to the station.