Mango Walk

the distance travelled is never complete
we never reach the end because we find
that start and finish are somehow entwined
all understanding is a huge conceit
belief that we can tell just what is meet
that the most hard and cruel is truly kind
that those who wield the whip have been maligned
what seems most brilliant is just more deceit
the pause of years turns out to be just show
for those who keep a heart of honest gold
but all the rest pay a much higher price
to live within the ambit of that glow
wondering if they can their side uphold
by some superior means or fair device

under the dimmer stars wild creatures dance
the rules of courtesy require exchange
between those meetings that we prearrange
and those that happen by the merest chance
each looks on as the hungry run and prance
knowing that none would dare fright or estrange
this is the one night when the laws can change
and none will look at the matings askance
in daylight all returns to proper wild
forest shade is as red in tooth and claw
as any son of hobbes might ever know
but on the proper night the smallest child
knows that an older and a kinder law
shields every being from the deadly blow

name all the stars and watch the heavens fill
with meanings we impose from down below
words add to words and so we claim to know
by name on name that neither luck nor skill
explains each hap nothing that we distill
from sensuous knowledge moving fast or slow
is just its seeming the world is simple show
each scene dissolving without act of will
there are so many motions none can say
which ones might matter at the proper time
only that from the changes none can hide
there is through nature but a single way
only one bell that rings a simple chime
and every journey takes a single day

a chosen word or two matters not much
we know enough to count the open ways
in which to value what the speaker says
and leave behind that which we cannot clutch
the timid rabbit hiding in its hutch
is not much wiser than the cat that plays
out in the garden but it knows the days
account for more than what we think to touch
the predator may dance before the prey
but is no gift the thing that must be done
is not to gaze upon the complex act
but in a twinkling to run as fast away
as would a bullet leave the hunter's gun
the magic is not in the thought but fact

we listen and we groan as once again
lie's piled on lie until the world of shit
is lied into perfection cheer fake wit
and do not ever think of all the pain
these lies are built on nor of all the gain
the smiling ones would not ever admit
as privately they turn to hawk and spit
and then tell us that it is just the rain
not one of them would hesitate a beat
to save the life of one who was not rich
compassion's just a word without a sense
you have to have a nicely cushioned seat
for other's goods a finely-tailored itch
and at humanity make some pretense

you had a choice and made the proper turn
but then the road divided and you fell
into a pit as deep and hot as hell
and from that time you have not ceased to burn
from then to now you have not failed to learn
the price of all the stories you would tell
the cost of all the goods that people sell
there are some things it is not good to earn
a distant horn reminds us of the time
it takes to journey up from deepest vale
into the light of not-so-common day
so many fail to finish the long climb
and they are beings of the self-same clay
but you alone return to give the tale

 this is the tale of one who dared not speak
but made his measure one that all must hear
the word made harder than it should appear
vision exposed to strong as well as weak
there are creations that the small may wreak
upon a world become thin and austere
such matters as no god could engineer
beyond the space of matter and mystique
attend you noble ones as you dance by
upon your futile duties to the throne
no palace lasts when all the plebs are dead
no kingdom can stand long built on a lie
that much even the dullest kings have known
and this is what the master spies must dread

when angels fall into the maw of fear
not many know just how the end is set
nor who will in the end express regret
before the fever and the pox appear
we leave the facts to those who engineer
the kinds of meaning that we soon forget
those marks of cadence on the coronet
that tell us what is normal and sincere
aspire to higher glories and you'll fail
to reach even those you ought to master
but the first dropout soon achieves his goal
those things you strike upon the very nail
are not those that you arrive at faster
nor are they ones that you will get to whole

the names of gods are hidden from the folk
by priests who need to raise their voices high
to hide the weight that they wish to apply
and the great absence of what they evoke
we'd think it all some sort of painful joke
until we hear the worshippers all sigh
not knowing that they take part in a lie
not feeling either the whip or the yoke
the slave insists that she can feel no chain
all normal cycles are proclaimed as proof
of benign powers that by secret art
provide a blessing with the sun and rain
create the sky as their majestic roof
and know the secrets of the human heart