The Pompous Beast
flicks back it’s hair
looking down, always down
from towers obscene
against blue skies
laughing at you,
laughing at your hate,
laughing at your love
but most of all
laughing at your fear
and I love my little world
but hate the world in which it sits
and ponder why
when the question is how
I come to look down, always down
from my own tower obscene
against blue skies
A Slippery Road
To know
without resorting
to proving
To inspire
without resorting
to competing
To profane
without resorting
to profanity
To win
without resorting
to defeating
To hope
without resorting
to pleading
To own
without resorting
to possessing
To love
without resorting
to being loved
Dry leaves
we are
falling away
from living limb
to ride the wind
and wave alike
to parts unknown
we accumulate
in heap and pile
we rot or burn.