How many nights this way I’ve spent
How many more will go misspent
A chance to dream wasted once more
Under this old and starless tent.
One spins a yarn, one twists a twine
And all awhile one waits in line
One weaves a cloth, be white it may
A newborn’s wrap, or shroud of mine.
Forbidden ‘though the fruit we ate
What’s life without a lovely mate
Fires aroar await below
Judgement’s come, alas, too late.
O shady elm, the spring aflow
Go tell my sweet, I love her so
Her countenance is of heaven made
Of judgement day, naught I know.
My vision be it blurred and lame
Clear ruby wine is not to blame
Tell the tavern master: “Friend,
In what you pour there lies no shame.”
My comrades praying ‘neath the dome
Don’t fret, I’m yet to stray from home
The call from minaret is clear
To elf and sprite and troll and gnome.
Ocean’s gray and sky unblue
Horizon shows its hideous hue
Serve us claret my maid divine
Then let rosy cheeks ensue.
The ark that saved us from the flood
Is now afloat a sea of blood
I hear the worthy captain cry:
Fiasco, flop, failure, dud.
O earthly pleasure, it’s thee I hail
Recount your wicked sinful tale
Relate it I shall then impart
To infernal friends whom I’ll regale.
Last eve the minstrel’s gay refrain
Allayed my heart and eased my pain
In the goblet then I read:
“Heathen, hereby Eden feign.”
Judgement day awaits in tow
Brazen ravens blare and crow
Nevermore shall their reprise
Smear my master’s hallowed glow.
In a house of ill repute
I found my master drunk and mute
As I wondered, he exclaimed:
“These deeds, hereafter, we’ll dispute.”
I urged wise men near and far
Sprechen Sie, Speak, Parlez, Ablar!
En masse they spoke in silent tongues
Food for worms is what we are.
Come morning, stance and faith and creed
At noon inclined to trade and deed
Come evening, may the music flow
At night, imbibed a verse to read.
I race toward the tavern gate
For fear of ever being late
I see the keeper, jar in hand
And scores and scores aft me to slate.
My loved one posed in lace attire
Proposed me hence once to inquire
Would I trade one single moment
Such as this for world entire?
I saw a potter’s rolling wheel
Churn out urns, and chimes to peal
Obliged him I: “So many, why?”
“Chimes for prayer, urns to conceal.”
One sees the world in black and white
The other sees it day or night
I see it, minuscule and trite
Petty, weak, absurd, and slight.
If glory’s the reward for fame
I’d rather you not call my name
Many a human soul revealed
The same, the same, the same, the same.
In restless silence life expires
All your wants, needs, and desires
To ash and soot all will become
In bonfires, funeral pyres.
Firmament’s designer’s intent
Perplexes me while I lament
Could this all an illusion be
Within the awning of my tent?
