by the time it matters

wisdom is but sharp experience read

against the peal of years and given weight

still by the time it matters we are dead

so all your chiding some good thought has bred

within each mind before the hour turns late

wisdom is but sharp experience read

in the cold pages of the tale of dread

as drear hours pass until we reach the gate

still by the time it matters we are dead

and all good judgment given up and fled

since it is past all moment for debate

wisdom is but sharp experience read

as text to the dark music in each head

that echoes in deep tones against the slate

still by the time it matters we are dead

therefore avoiding all those who have fled

into the perils of a different state

wisdom is but sharp experience read

still by the time it matters we are dead

some good word to say

our world turns all experience into test

just so we're measured each and every day

each purpose is the same to be the best

the angry and the ones who acquiesced

in the strict rules by which we willed to play

our world turns all experience into test

they said to us and we thought it a jest

until the last good choices went away

each purpose is the same to be the best

at this long game and not to be depressed

is what the teacher said and we were grey

our world turns all experience into test

with each achievement losing all its zest

once skill has turned it into just more play

each purpose is the same to be the best

so that is all the worth we may attest

while each of us has some good word to say

our world turns all experience into test

each purpose is the same to be the best

the last short trip

so much is lost inside the space of dark

where what we see and hear is felt so hard

that when we tear or find the door is barred

to every vision and without a mark

we turn to go we hasten to embark

on one more journey while you stand on guard

with eyes close watching on the final yard

as all our choices now have come down stark

no names are mentioned in the frozen place

where all are sorted for the last short trip

out to oblivion yet there's a chance

that these sad agents of the human race

may for a moment get themselves a grip

so joining in the finest kind of dance

no dark to hate

no matter what the peak arcs all descend

unto the earth from which they first arose

that's the most certain the most profound trend

even for one who best withstands the blows

of evil fortune or of cruel fate

falls to despair then rises to high state

no epoch should be measured by one rule

yet we insist that far beyond the cool

and shaded halls where measure has its sway

all things are governed by a simple tool

so each becomes the hero of their day

just past its height the moment seems to bend

with all the weight of ages that could close

cold time's long judgment that will never mend

either warm eyes or the dull hearts that froze

from lack of feeling or the heavy freight

of knowledge that would rise and not abate

from the bright ocean to the chiefly stool

while other wisdoms might in time unspool

we were not shown the truth but in one way

which was to lead us all back into school

so each becomes the hero of their day

there's nothing more on which we must depend

between the morning and the next repose

when all the hours will with clean music blend

so that our thoughts will come out sweeter prose

all of our motion take a smoother gait

while vision leave  us with no dark to hate

returning light finds each beside a pool

bright with our hopes and in the morning cool

though being clear and apt enough for play

we can be certain that none is a fool

so each becomes the hero of their day

we have been warned against the last misrule

of ancient dodderers sunk in their drool

their grimaces the doltish things they say

enough to know we're past this basic school

so each becomes the hero of their day

at the woodland gate

partway along the path that all must tread

wrong turning taken in the dusk and muck

no hope to find the proper road ahead

so easy then to say that truth had fled

give up on life along with all my luck

partway along the path that all must tread

while many voices echo no words said

could quite convey how badly one was stuck

no hope to find the proper road ahead

darkness around the human world abed

so easy then the mortal form to shuck

partway along the path that all must tread

where none could scream from simple weight of dread

no light could come from passing car or truck

no hope to find the proper road ahead

the only message was you must fall dead

the world goes on no one will give a fuck

partway along the path that all must tread

no hope to find the proper road ahead

war story

from mountains coloured by no faint regret

there's never pause to think we must be past

the urgent moment when we were beset

by what seemed armies that could not forget

the banner that was once seen on our mast

from mountains coloured by no faint regret

yet we must move to wait would be to fret

and patience is for those who have not passed

the urgent moment when we were beset

from every side but still would take the bet

against despair we could not be outclassed

from mountains coloured with no faint regret

each could discern what would not be upset

till beyond hope all pilgrims would hold fast

the urgent moment when we were beset

right at the point where all the roads had met

and journeys would have reached their end at last

from mountains coloured by no faint regret

the urgent moment when we were beset

blame dull fate

where no one sits there’s no reason to wait

yet there are many who with sharp regard

look in the distance with eyes that are hard

to see what they can measure of the gait

or bearing of the folk whose heavy freight

will end like all things in the somber yard

together with the honest and disbarred

and all that we can do is blame dull fate

our vision does not fail yet when we glance

outside the window matters not so bold

will move us not to hope but unto ire

for what we know seems ruled by evil chance

while brilliant sunshine does nothing to cold

since long ago each chose to bank the fire

hardly a storm

your choices come down fast to none at all

an echo of the truth is no reward

since none will hear you if you have to call

out through the darkness that shall swiftly fall

when hope and vengeance reach their first accord

your choices come down fast to none at all

a world once large has rapidly grown small

and all good options have gone by the board

since none will hear you if you have to call

so half the planet listens to this brawl

while all the others look away quite bored

your choices come down fast to none at all

you've lost the plot been cast beyond the wall

finding out now just what you had deplored

since none will hear you if you have to call

in utter silence you confront the squall

with all the energy you can afford

your choices come down fast to none at all

since none will hear you if you have to call

uncertain of the cure

all that we know is measured in degrees

of silence or of truth that we declare

not loudly but most firmly into air

that has been purified by these dark trees

standing impassive in the midday breeze

while we afflicted by most reasoned fear

are not so hopeful that we’ll choose to dare

go through the woods to face the heat or freeze

no options are so good are purest chance

but all our wishes end up just as vain

as when we started so we must endure

let other figures enter in the dance

hope for the sun but buck up under rain

and face each ill uncertain of the cure

dead leaves

dead leaves piled up in the slow steady rain

their reds and yellows dull on the dark ground

so much of sorrow is already plain

to us who listen as the boughs complain

at the winds passage with a sighing sound

dead leaves piled up in the slow steady rain

are one more sign of life's passing campaign

against eternity this is one round

so much of sorrow is already plain

and we're the losers since we never gain

a single inch nor hope for a rebound

dead leaves piled up in the slow steady rain

are but the markers of our lost terrain

someone will come and heap them in a mound

so much of sorrow is already plain

it is reality nothing arcane

our normal vista not a thing profound

dead leaves piled up in the slow steady rain

so much of sorrow is already plain