Tag Archives: battles

A Million Years

Just like we’ve done for a million years,
we strike out blindly in the dark in fear.
Some use rocks or bombs, that’s their choice;
me, I use music, my words, my voice.

We each know nothing, but take on faith
that truth comes from an honest face;
and when that message becomes a lie,
we use our darkness to hide disgrace.

Just like we were living in those caves:
we fear and worship the ones’ who’re brave
enough to venture out in the mist,
who tell us monsters just don’t exist.

But we know better; it couldn’t be
that we alone keep us from being free.
So there be monsters, alive and well;
on one side, Heaven, the other, Hell.

Just like we started. Doesn’t it seem
a million years, a million dreams
would make some difference, help us to grow
beyond our fear of “I don’t know.”?

The truth is simple: there’s nothing more
than what we make it, and that’s for sure.
What work we’re given is to survive
Another million, ’til we arrive.

03 AUG 2006

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You and Me Against the World

You and me against the world?
Well, damn them folks to hell
who think that they’re the passioned ones
and we’ve nothing to sell,
nor anything worth sharing
except grand ideas and talk;
I say, let’s keep believing in ourselves
and walk the walk.

Who cares if they all shy away,
afraid to step outside
the narrow confines of their raising,
ignorance and pride?
The world is more than any of us
can hold in our hands;
I’d rather be thought a great fool
than say I understand.

So, you and me against the world?
There’s not a better pair;
for both of us seek for the truth
that is out there, somewhere,
not in a single grain strewn on
some vast and endless beach,
but right here, where our feet are resting,
toes pressed each to each.

Let’s do just as we please, my dear;
remember that the rest
will either think us quite insane
or bound for hell, at best.
So long as we’ve each other,
there’s no telling what we’ll do.
Let those who try to mock our joy
find their own scapegoats, too.

20 APR 2006

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Your Own Words

What do I care? They’re only words,
flung out in speech like careless pearls;
it’s not as if they can raise boils
or lay an endless, babbling curse.

Oh, wait; that’s not entirely true.
For in the Celtic lands, the bard
could with their words alone transform
a thing in such a way.

What do I care? Those bards are dead;
were their pale spirits gathered here,
each duly armed with sticks and stones,
I doubt they’d raise a bruise.

Well, wait; I’d like to take that back,
and years of useless, pointless talk
avoiding one small, simple truth;
that your own words can hurt you.

07 APR 2006

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The Pen and the Sword

a bref double

Speak to me, if you linger at the trough
and hesitant to take a drink, hang back
while others have their fill and more besides,
expecting none will challenge their self-right.

I give to you a gift – the words you lack;
Do not refuse their use or doubt their strength.
Employ them, let their fiber warm your bones,
and fill your inside ’til it’s round and tight.

As weapons, are these few small words enough
to arm a soul, defenseless, for the fray?
They may not seem a danger at first glance,
but steel beneath their slack coat gives them might;

So drink, and what you find no use, give back;
as iron rusts, so words forgotten die.

06 APR 2004

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Mightier Than the Sword

My pen and paper ‘gainst your sword and shield
We both draw blood on the same battlefield
It’s a war of ideas, and some of them proud
None of them dare speak their motives out loud

My own revolution turned out to be small
And sometimes, I wonder on the sense of it all
It’s a trial and burden, this conscience of mine
It keeps me from thinking everything is just fine

Some old friends surrendered themselves to the void
Got themselves mortgaged and gainful employed
It’s a non-ending struggle, to have and to hold
And the graveyards are filled with the wild and the bold

Some fought for their country, and some fought against
the barbed wire that keeps us on this side of the fence
It’s a constant reminder that what makes us sane
Is the same thing that drives us to lash out in pain

My own revolution is smaller, it seems
It keeps me from dying, and keeps me in dreams
It’s a lifelong ambition, to strike with a chord
To the heart of the matter with ink, not a sword.

07 SEP 2003

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Choosing Your Battles

When the middle of the road is muddy slick
so that the vehicles of truth get mired,
‘Tis then the vultures gather there to pick
among the helpless and the uninspired.

The wheels of progress spin but cannot grab
or gain a purchase ‘gainst the tide of war,
but spout mere rhetoric and useless gab
until the words don’t matter anymore.

And love? It is subsumed in mindless hate;
the doves of peace set on by hungry hawks
who speak of “help” but would decide our fate
while the whole world still argues and just gawks.

The future in such times is so unsure –
for who’s to judge whose motives are more pure?

21 JUN 2003

for LJ user stephanielynch

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