another face of things

 the handsome prince will get the peasant lass
that is a given in each fairy tale
but no one speaks of tankards of warm ale
or priests who mumble sacred words in mass
we hear of speaking salmon not of bass
of swords and knights but not of those who quail
before the stern-faced laywers or who fail
to hide the inopportune blast of gas
stories end in promise of happiness
but do not mention in all their matter
just what that means to those like you or i
whose worlds are all one vast unholy mess
whose days are filled with bother and clatter
and have no time to look up at the sky

that strain again

 

we cannot truly understand the past
all that we know is not enough to tell
history's a stream on which we all are cast

things happen and they happen very fast
it is all over when they ring the bell
we cannot truly understand the past

not even time to pack up the repast
before we see the ocean rise and swell
history's a stream on which we all are cast

we may recover from the sudden blast
but not accept either vision or smell
we cannot truly understand the past

our colours now hang limply from the mast
we find there is no water in the well
history's a stream on which we all are cast

the prize will be withheld until the last
we listen for that final aching knell
we cannot truly understand the past
history's a stream on which we all are cast

quest fever

 

night makes the shapes that come to us in dream
each of us travels through that realm of dark
forever seeking one last noble gleam

we hold our visions in lowest esteem
that other world seems a most dreadful park
night makes the shapes that come to us in dream

we hate to watch the last fading sunbeam
fearing deep shadows and terrors most stark
forever seeking one last noble gleam

we get a message a confusing meme
facing a stern judge and an evil clerk
night makes the shapes that come to us in dream

we wake and paper fills up by the ream
with words that waking mind may truly mark
forever seeking one last noble gleam

the journey's made with neither sail nor steam
from light to light we follow the stone's arc
night makes the shape that come to us in dream
forever seeking one last noble gleam