Little/Little...

Little bits
that mean so much
So much
that means so little

Little by little
It's so much
for so much
Then so long
to so long

Little by little
It all adds up
as it all comes down
Then it's time to pay up
(End of the count down)

Little by little
Given and taken away
Little by little
Living and passing this way

Little/little
The division of all
Little/little
The division from all
Little/little
Until that is all
...

Man Made...

It wasn't nature
that built
 hospitals
 skyscrapers
 cities
 sewers
 cemeteries
 cathedrals
It was men

Nature made
 famine
 drought
 flood
 plaque

It wasn't nature
that made
 agriculture
 business
 sanitation
 prosperity

Men live
as nature kills
and though nature claims the end
men continue to ascend

Heard It All...

They talk about music
or what passes for it

They've heard it all
 all the singles
 all the albums
 every band
old and new
On the radio
On CD
On Vinyl
On stage

They mention them all,
confirm they've heard,
mention others,
etc, etc, etc...
They announce passively
what they are waiting to hear
once it's released
Band after band
album after album
they have heard it all
or soon will

I can't help but hear them
I can't help but wonder
Have they ever listened, or only heard?
Hearing is an impersonal exposure
  with awareness of sound
Listening is a personal engagement
  in awe of the sound

I hear them go on,
and on,
& on...
Saying nothing of their engagements
to what their ears have discovered
Nothing is personal
Nothing resounds
  in the sound of their voices
  on the sound of the songs

But it's almost impossible to listen
For me to them
For them perhaps to anything
We've all heard it all before
Will we go on to listen?
  -for something new
  -for something else
  -for anything at all

I keep my ears open
and remain quiet
patiently waiting
for something
 a voice
 a song
 a sound
for my ears to listen
for my soul to more than hear

When I hear it
my voice will be full
 of words to praise
 or silent reverence
And if other ears are there
they may hear my
 rhetoric or reticence
and maybe some will listen
and maybe I will too
or no one will hear at all
as they've heard it all before

Modus Ponendo Ponens (the way that affirms by affirming)...

If things are to survive,
then they must change
Things are surviving
therefore things are changing

And In The River Sleeps...

A song fades into silence
as a voice is deprived of air
Waves crash on shores with violence
but the sands & time can't care

And in the river sleeps
what once swam through its deeps
Committed to the depths below
the lighthouse dimly weeps
into waters far below
And in the river sleeps
the light that will not glow

Shores sigh with the echoes of the tide
as waters fall and rise
and the anchors must abide
whatever water tries
And in the river sleeps
what in memory slowly dies

And in the river sleeps
the song without the sound
and the silence that it keeps
is the loss that's never found
And in the river sleeps
the past of the profound
with the folly that has drowned

To What Shores Your Sirens Sing...

To what shores do your sirens sing
In what spirit do your church-bells ring
Are the beaches where the shipwrecked gather
or where the pirates spread their chatter
Are the sounding towers a cause uplifting
or prompts to keep the ashes sifting

Are the songs you sing of freshest air
or the putrid smog of flatulent flair
Are the lyrics affirmed by virtues sought
or mindless blabber devoid of thought

To what shores do your sirens sing
What do their songs intend to bring
Are brave and valiant explorers called
or rouges to which you'd be appalled
Are treasures there to be deserved
or haunts to make the brave unnerved

To what shores do your sirens sing
What is the nature of their king
Are the rules and rulers meant to make
more than waves on shores to break
Or on the shores of songs like these
is there much more upon the breeze
than stagnant airs of desolate ease
like dancing winds that flow through trees

To what shores your sirens sing
May there you find the treasured thing
and in your voice of triumph sing
for all the hope the tides may bring
to the shores of which your sirens sing

The Decline...

All good things end too
This is really nothing new
The meanings
reduced to leanings
Then the absolute
is no longer resolute
As the truths self-evident
become irrelevant

Self-made-man
devised a plan
but blinded fools in wander
forsook it all in squander

They said someone else could
or someone else should
because they never would

They pointed and waited
delayed and belated
as the weight compiled
by all they defiled

and it all collapsed
as time elapsed
but they looked at the heap
and continued to weep
as they made refuse of gold
and bought what they sold
doing just as they're told
till there's nothing to hold