Mango Walk

the alien qentba on the planet crea
are gentle creatures and when any speak
their messages have much that people seek
but not a one knows just what they might see
with those strange eyes from which the cowards flee
these are not creatures friendly to the meek
but are companions to the horrid freak
and issue flame so far above the sea
there are so many ways to twist a thread
and let a new growth rise up from the spore
while others know how much they have to yearn
the qentba of crea let none ride with dread
but only those who will find out the score
and none but mages ever hope to burn

your chances come and go like a spring breeze
above the tulips maples still are bare
but all the city seems to be aware
that something's brewing in the mysteries
nature may hide some trick in her chemise
that the best gardener would not think she'd dare
and then send signals out in simplest clear
when we most think to sit and take our ease
on edge of spring we wait as on each night
the stars reveal another sort of chance
and we are given leave to ask for rest
not knowing yet what we may get as right
nor what our steps are in the coming dance
but hoping that each change is for the best

those are the boundaries of former pain
anguish forgotten and then once revealed
given the shape of some monstrous congealed
abortion that has left behind a stain
and odour of which honest sorts complain
while mould and blight have covered all the field
and not a single fruit the trees will yield
the loser is the only one who'll gain
this victory of all has meant the end
of decency and of the best desire
while maggots feast on what is left of art
there are still those who force us to pretend
that there might come again that divine fire
to wake once more the warmth of human heart

there is no one who would not hesitate
before such choices as the ones we face
such facts as these no rubber can erase
we choose to blame a silent hateful fate
a lie that we can forge without debate
this deity before whom we can abase
ourselves and claim that there is no disgrace
in saying that we simply could not wait
never believe just what you have been told
by those who claim to have your care in hand
the world is ruled by monsters and by brutes
the smell of shit comes from what looks like gold
honour and honesty have both been banned
and decent folk have found other pursuits

more marvels than we wonder at in time
require durations longer than a life
a sense of humour sharper than a knife
and hope that lasts much longer at its prime
so that we do not call each love a crime
mistake the normal signs of growth for strife
and know that all with marks of grief are rife
we chain them up within the bars of rhyme
desires are laid out openly and plain
for those who want to see just how we make
the answer suffice for the world we've got
much will depend on just how much we gain
not on the things that others have to take
on what we do and just what you cannot

if we flow with the river none will drown
but none will see the run rise on the day
when the whole year combines to wash away
all that has kept us back and held us down
no one who struggles ought then just to frown
and demand that the anger cease and stay
but join with those who overcame the fray
and place on every head the golden crown
there are some victories that do not count
but those that matter have the higher price
still we who pay it know that any cost
could never equal the complete amount
nor be exact in total nor precise
to ever equal all that we have lost

if what i say should come to matter much
those who would listen hold up to each ear
chains that close tightly when free words appear
and keep the heart and mind firmly in clutch
there are some people who would say that such
concern means that we may have held too dear
a thing that might jam any working gear
and quickly put the mind right out of touch
listen to those who say that when we mourn
the tears that fall do not produce a bit
of anything that can redeem our choice
but since the world is given when we're born
there may be more than any might admit
and something might be said in a small voice

perhaps we'll get to see one golden dawn
the shape of things not turned into a pain
worlds not destroyed for temporary gain
a light the glow of which we will not scorn
such things as we have dreamt since we were born
a cleansing of the old and noisome stain
an effort not expended all in vain
an honest oath that shall not be forsworn
so that the truth be told and hate be scorned
we face the fire and say the words of praise
before the altars of the silent god
these are the matters honest unadorned
that will be with you to the final days
when we're forgotten underneath the sod

between the yesterdays there is no past
our history is turned into a sale
product and seller that's the only tale
there was just nothing and then came the blast
the stencil's cut and the die has been cast
we wrap the cloth up in a neat square bale
all roughness hidden by a gauzy veil
with a good presence fortune will be vast
we could state facts but that would be so dry
no one would care about making things true
the only thing that matters is the cash
so let the audience lap up every lie
bring on the meretricious into view
and turn the whole world into just more trash