There lived a greyed, an old bald man
At sixty of age in a squalid barn
So rich that he could not feed his home
His colleagues outshined to beat their glome
He helped his men to mend their mouths
But had his own reeking at shouts
So rich, he could not treat his pot belly
His big nose villagers have turned telly
When children saw him roaming the streets
They play'd his bald head tapping with beats
To them he cautioned shouting "the heck!"
They started laughing his needle neck
One day, left he, his wooden shed
With flies aloft his podgy head
To eat overseas he flew away
His home behind in care of hay
Afterwards, came the baldie to his dome
With butt like bowls in Ancient Rome
He remembered he was sixty years old
Gathered his home, celebration to hold
This greyed himself was Everyman
Of dreams and deeds in futile plan
Some cared to show their loving sense
But all they did was all pretence.
Every Man
Every man is a blind tourist
On bare feet, naked body
In the mystery world of foes
Full of thorns and venom
Battling against chaotic ordeals
Unlucky he who tours long
Fighting long folly wars
With no victory in sight
Ripening and rotting
Slowly and surely
Like tomatoes
From anniversary
To anniversary
Finally resting
In the dustbin
Forever
I am History!
Moulded of the Earth and the stars,
of the temporal silence of a tear,
as Jesus of Narareth,
Albert Einstein,
Martin Luther King, or
a dust particle in a ray of sunlight,
I threw off the shackles of inferiority.
In a moment of revelation, I knew
that breath is my sole defense
and totality is my joy.
~
You are effervescent, scintillating, bliss
Easily the most beautiful woman I've ever been with.
Not your smile or eyes but your energy, I can't miss
I'd love you as a Jedi or a Sith.
Last night was more than I can put into text
But this morning you brought back pain
Pain I haven't felt since before we'd sext.
I thought you'd gone insane.
You said you wanted him. I wasn't enough.
He cheated, yelled, broke you. Hurt you.
I still can't believe you put up with that stuff.
But looking in your eyes I knew it was true.
Last night I was your Superman
Now I am just your everyman.
Counting beans by the sun
through the California twilight
yearning for a past yet undiscovered
Ambitious wavelengths of
earned emancipation growing ever
to the trembles of a call from
high above
Reaching the peak, alas,
vision obscured by the
journey's destination
never carefully known
So for eternity the beans keep
counting, wondering for whom
their number turns to fate
unaware that the mighty have
fallen to the heights of
ever more
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