How to make light

We take our places in the old, old play
with not much sense of being upon the stage,
we're just the honest voices of our day.

There's so much that we simply cannot say,
too many things that are wrong with our age;
we take our places in the old, old play.

At best we might some notional monster slay
that has its only life on this white page,
we're just the honest voices of our day.

We hide our smiles when spamming asses bray
their trite inanities, and hold our rage --
we take our places in the old, old play.

We laugh when watch as our good friends stray
all over the damn' map, our laugh's their gauge;
we're just the honest voices of our day.

Though seasons change we've got eternal May,
we're civil but we know when to engage;
we're just the honest voices of our day,
we take our places in the old, old play.

On the antiquity of blogging

Egyptian priests just sighed in their beer
at all the bloody words they had to write;
they toiled far into the Nilotic night

to say those things that Pharaoh held dear;
then looked upon the work, and at the sight
Egyptian priests just sighed in their beer.

Today, we know that bloggers far and near
with words and meanings all are making light
of tasks that gave old Potiphar a fright;
Egyptian priests just sighed in their beer.

the truth of liberation

we know of nothing that comes after dark
the sleep that lasts forever is the prize
no other world will come beneath our eyes
there's no eternal dancing in the park
breaking the silence distant dogs will bark
their presence with us here justly denies
that our existence is a pack of lies
they serve indeed to keep us to the mark
in the short hours of sunlight let us choose
the harder path the one that has its cost
that causes us to go against the grain
the other way is just to play and lose
and then to claim that we have never lost
deny the pleasure and refuse the pain
the world we've got is simple clear and plain
we can't just opt out we can't just refuse
to leave the creeks and rivers all uncrossed
we can't just wait on the promise of rain
beneath the skin we still can see the bruise
though in the summer there's no fear of frost
we wonder at the play of time and chance
but know that we have no choice but to dance

knowing for the first ime

our minds are set into convergent motion
we face a world with maps that are too old
and none of us has any store of gold
about our goal we have not the least notion
but are supposed to give all our devotion
to do the things about which we are told
we aren't the ones to bring sheep to the fold
but must set forth across the open ocean
not with a chart or compass of these seas
but with hearts filled with nothing but delusion
we venture out with all our flags unfurled
the sails are filled out with a freshening breeze
we scatter our dried leaves in great profusion
and know that we must inherit a new world