If I could only
Ignore the ego long enough
To listen to the voice of reason
I could stare into the yellow of the flame
And know that which seems to elude me

"Too soon old
and too late smart"
Now, wisdom comes
to impart
the truth of things
the right from wrong
What one's gut
knew all along

Wise man say
It is much easier
To practice acceptance
Of the world’s imperfection
Within the silence of meditation

Wise man say:

Words spoken and then eaten
always spoil your supper

Man with big mouth
always looking for missing foot

Leave molehills as molehills
Mountains are god’s work

Temper your words with seasoning
for you may have to eat them

Criticism of oneself
Is often the harshest
Do unto you
As you would have others
Do unto you

Wise man say:

Enjoy today
for tomorrow always comes

It take much work
to be crazy *******

Miserable people
save all gratitude
for death bed

All world's evil
found in one baby's
lumpy diaper

How pale the days
without love
No color to their memories
and tomorrow but a sketch
of a painting not yet started

Strolling through a field
In a Victorian gown
As if she were the model
For a painting well-known
As she spins a green parasol
In the Spring sun
Her hair breaking free
From the shape of a bun
Her little boy marvels
At the kaleidoscope sky
Basking in the presence
Of time floating by
There is peace in the world
On this blessed day
It blows through their souls
Pushing all clouds away

Sometimes, in the dead of night
before I've had the chance to write
they disappear into the light
of the moon outside my window
I leave the house, sit on the lawn
Wait until the crack of dawn
Still no trace of where they’ve gone
Where do forgotten words go?

What in God’s name
has this sorry world done?
When the looks of such misery
are on faces so young
When the agents of darkness
walk around in the sun
When no one will say it
but the evil has won
What has the world come to?
What has it done?

What sort of wretch am I?
Who curses God from where I lie
When I want to sing
I want to cry
But my arid throat’s too dry
To utter anything but
“What sort of wretch am I?”

As I pour myself
another drink
I tell myself
not to think
of moving thoughts
from pen to paper
then suffer from
a reckless rapier

To restore the years
the locust have eaten
You must honestly review
time weathered and beaten
Where have you been
trying to know who you are?
It’s not only the world
that wouldn’t let you be you
You may not know it
but, you did it too
Nodding yes to those
who were planning from the very start

To waste the precious you