passionate intensity

the measurement of light in the still air
an art perfected by the best of men
vanishing past the point where any care

the morning like most mornings is set fair
outside i look for robin or for wren
the measurement of light in the still air

little is given but still there's some to spare
the greatest flight's beyond the normal ken
vanishing past the point where any care

far from me now is terror of nightmare
the monster still may lurk within its den
the measurement of light in the still air

for a brief moment i may sit and stare
my mind will concentrate upon the pen
vanishing past the point where any care

we're kidding but we're kidding on the square
there's no chance we will see this shape again
the measurement of light in the still air
vanishing past the point where any care

flattery

there's nothing quite like winning a great game
the prize is more than mastery it's really grand
you'll have gained true control of sea and land
and all the world will bow before your fame
this makes all ordinary life seem poor and tame
you are the one who will things understand
the greatest power will lie within your hand
and all will bow to you or cower in deepest shame
there is nothing here that matters more than this
to have won all and to have risked so much
for such a victory makes you a special case
ignore the losers who can only weep and hiss
all of the earth is there for you to grasp and touch
and even the sun must glow less than your face

unchained this moment

enough that we cannot speak here of time
the matter is one that can truly frighten
the journey's one continual upward climb

nothing is here that a little fear won't brighten
someone would notice if we were to weep
and things are not run by the admirable chrichton

we can't explore unless we go real deep
that's going to scare the ones who truly speak
they'll soon be forced to retreat past sleep

not one of us who isn't at bottom weak
this is a fact that none but you can take
for we never find the things we truly seek

it's always hard to distinguish real from fake
in order to make haste we must move slow
(and this assertion sure is no mistake)

the river that has the most restrained flow
waters more plants than the fast-rushing stream
but in its passing we can see no glow

not milk for us nothing but the best cream
we are the masters of this tiny space
and our forbearance has been an empty dream

give unto us the matter we most desire
we will assert that we have the best right
beneath us glows the last most baneful fire

but we are not the children of the light