The Fallen Times: A Poem on Reality
Once upon a gelid land
I wrote and sang and told a man
Of dreams that course a rigid fold
Oh not so sweet and not so sour
But the man too was swept with time
The man had his own rhymes
So he held my hand and gave a chord
And then he sank on the baltic floor
Worried, I was, I gave a call
To ten or twenty or maybe some more
All clad in their snazzy suits
They stood by to gaze the storm
But then there at the end of time
One stepped to cross the line
With seven streets in bedlam roar
He picked the man from a strangers door
The journey began, I watched the sky
And it was then I asked him why
We tear the miles to snow
Where we are not meant to show
Yet in a while the night was nigh
The terror tall, the mountains high
And that is where he burried a soul
With twenty lies or twenty four
Today he said you rest in land
Far away from the alien hands
Where honour is a pass of time
And change leans on a silver dime
Your fate was vile, it struck a wall
Now the city burns with a subtle fall
Of warmth and love that rinse the cries
Of every lost on a midden dry
Today he said the books are new
Like little drops of morning dew
Which dilly dallies on the broken minds
But fills the colour of a bairn true
And so the children's play in halls
With a little wobble and a hobby horse
Yes they invite the one they like
The barefooted or a golden pride
Alas! The edge was here to stay
A evil swallowed the northern way
And the sky sparkled with spiller flares
Above a man with wounded prayers
But the man was busy he walked a mile
I followed him for a certain while
Until he wept and sat below
The dreaded heights of several more
