only eight miles

the road that plunges deeper through the dark
leads to no mysteries just other homes
and in the end to where the sea just foams
on shores where fading pirates left their mark
great worlds collide in what is not a park
but where the hungry child or poet roams
or where the mermaid her soft hair now combs
and yet we went there only on a lark
earth's curve hides from us more than just a tale
of who we are or were and where we've been
the past is never past but we forget
the force of sunlight and the angry gale
the image of some awful monstruous grin
and deviate from the stern purpose set
we laughing will tramp forward on a bet
without regard for the sad empty wail
of spirits that must take it on the chin
uncertain now of just what we might get
as in the distance we see the last sail
and right behind us people bob and spin
truth comes and goes when we here speak of art
the setting sun sends arrows through the heart

no mystic realms

on edge of vision something not of light
nor of the darkness breeding in the thought
an image that was neither made nor caught
that we imagine just may come in sight
the rules require that everything be right
not just because we have been trained and taught
but to secure all that for which we fought
and thus ensure that we may soon requite
the pains that we endured for all these years
of waiting for the change that would not come
while others climbed the hill and found the way
past anger and the blinding salt of tears
to see the greatest enemies struck dumb
on seeing what is just a normal day

a perfect moment

the lights received at this noonday angle
auriferous leaves and these silver trees
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

we might with craft some of this peace wangle
listening to the drone of summer bees
the lights received at this noonday angle

avoiding all struggle fuss and brangle
to rise above the ones now on their knees
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

in calm heat we hope that fruit will dangle
within our reach such courtesy would please
the lights received at this noonday angle

rushing through short life what we might mangle
are all the messages brought by the breeze
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

the withes and vines will not the soul entangle
we pass through friendly nature at our ease
the lights received at this noonday angle
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

cul-de-sac

a simple sort of answer may suffice
for ordinary uses but right here
it's not nearly enough we're now too near
the borderlands of danger to be nice
we dare not speak of piquancy or spice
when all too soon a body on its bier
announces that there is a charge too dear
and some young fellow has to pay the price
lies glibly told may rapidly excite
the foolish sort to go out and enlist
but when they do they find the duty hard
we came to cheer the ones who youthful bright
went out and fought not thinking they'd be missed
and now the peaceful road of life is barred

sleep desired

there is a factory where fire turns cold
no paradox but only some dark smoke
to mark the spot for those who would be bold
there is a factory where fire turns cold

so we discover how to play or fold
what once seemed magical is now a joke
there is a factory where fire turns cold
no paradox but only some dark smoke

the eternal game

we have to choose between dragon or rat
between a fiery and a gnawing fate
by honest judgment or plain estimate

only a fool declares the world is flat
one who feels comfort in unearned estate
we have to choose between dragon and rat

the loser's always taken to the mat
we know this clearly and without debate
the impost falls and we must pay the rate
we have to choose between dragon and rat

Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn

we know that love remains the only law
our chances for survival are so clear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

from time to time the card that we may draw
will not depress but will our moment cheer
we know that love remains the only law

though fate awaits our feet with open maw
we are not given more than we should bear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

we test the boundaries and find no flaw
and still we find the enemy is near
we know that love remains the only law

the happy stallion sleeps on the straw
and knows that we have always held him dear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

the truest weapon is the living jaw
and none as vital ever will appear
we know that love remains the only law
the waiting monster may withhold its claw