I wish to reminisce
Upon the bliss
Of triumph
And the agony
Of tragedy;
Are they not twin and twisted ends
Observed as life occurs
In random spurts and trends?

To calculate and gauge his fate
Man did create
The chime of time,
One more illusion born
Inside the mind.
But once accepted
Does become illusion now rejected
As realities new find.

As time is heard to tock and tick
We do begin to ration it -
Evaluate and allocate
Each tick and tock upon the clock.

Life is lived by few
Observed by many
And understood by none -
Not a-one!

Though volumes have been written
While creative man is smitten
By the elegance of eloquence
In erudite philosophies
Combined with feeble prophesies;
Man still can only speculate and fabricate
More trendy theories empty of all consequence.

The bard of Avalon
Knew nothing new was there to be
Found unerneath the sun;
And though the bard is gone
His truth lives on and on and on.

Man's emotional devotion
To dissecting every notion
Into tiny bits of bigger bits
Until he finds a bit that fits
Within his predissection prophesetic wit of wits,
Has only gained mankind
A loss of nonexistent time.

And in another galaxy
Far, far away,
There is a sweaty, desert prophet
Eating crawling things and calling
All inhabitants to suck on worms
And be reborn
In squirmy wormy ritual rebirth;
A character quite similar to one
Found once upon a time right here on Mother Earth.

"Repent, repent
And then repent again
So maybe the creator of this hot incinerator
Will awaken His forsaken self, procrastinator
Self, and will begin his job again creating good...forgiving sin.

Now crack this crispy crawlin' critter's back between your teeth,
There's nothing like a juicy bug to feed the need for love.
It tastes a bit like chicken shit say those who live beneath
The desert floor and rarely speak to we who live above.

So save your soul and eat your treat
And I will stay out here to greet
The Son of the Creative One
Who says His work is never done
But afterall He is the Son
Of He who always needs to sleep
And blood can run in blood so deep
Such lazy ways may slowly creep
And leave the Son of One too weak
To carry on the awesome dawn
With his creative juices gone."