Tree of Knowledge blighted
Rough bark on thick trunk projects
the strength that once was
and hides the rot beneath
Withered roots no longer drink
from Good Earth and water pure
They tap a poison pool
and bear tainted fruits
Seduced by charlatans presenting
false choices as truth
Safety or Liberty
convenience or death
The new canons to be obeyed
Ignoring truths
that life is cruel
and happiness accidental
No eternity
Each moment lives in itself
Fear not tomorrow
When last met with my friend Fritz it was a somber occasion. I recall thinking that it would be some time before I might see him again. I do not know what instinct had told me this. Perhaps it was only some dark intuition, the sort often associated with his comings and goings. As it happens this was incorrect. I was awakened in the dark of pre-dawn by that familiar voice.
Thomas?
Yes?
Your sleep is uneasy tonight.
Is it?
You prefer to listen to your music rendered on vinyl. Why is it that you do not prefer to write on paper?
Fritz and I have established a familiarity between us. His oblique puzzles, though I may struggle to answer, do make sense to me.
I have not considered this Fritz. I actually do prefer to write upon paper.
I see. Is that because you are unable to communicate on vinyl?
HA! He left me an opening!
That is but one of many reasons Fritz.
You wish to speak of this no more?
I wish to speak of it no more today.
Very well.
He then remained silent for some time, though I knew our conversation was far from finished. We both enjoy the silence that we may better hear our inner voices. This is the space where Fritz and I commune.
This tropic choler of your nights do not suit my central European constitution Thomas.
I should have thought you would have grown used to it by now.
Perhaps I shall in time. You carry a sadness Thomas. Something new, not your ordinary melancholy.
Indeed I do Fritz. It was not my wish to trouble you with it.
Na, was gibt’s?
Girl trouble.
He laughed.
At your age? Ach… it is that curse of masculinity. We are forever in some part that ever eager adolescent.
True enough, but this is not like that.
For an instant Fritz appeared genuinely surprised. That marks a rare occasion. He said nothing more, merely entreating me with his glowing, dark eyes to go on.
I have grown numb Fritz. I am the victim of an innocent, girlish infatuation. A child’s hero worship. This is the type of trusting love that should bring joy to the heart, if one is human. I am able to smile and play the part, yet I only feel fear and dread.
Dread of what Thomas?
He knew the answer, or would not have asked.
It is the dread of receiving this trust, knowing that ultimately I can only disappoint.
As is the burden of Man to receive God’s love. I wrestled with this all my mortal life Thomas.
Indeed you did. And what say you now Fritz?
You were a stranger to yourself for most of your life Thomas. What say you now?
He had me. The bastard had me! He would leave, with that question weighing in the air. I have been awake since.
Having only some
understanding of your language
there is no clarity
Still don’t trust the message
Masks do not cover
there is no truth in your eyes
Can’t see your lips moving
yet we still know you lie
In some distant future
puzzling over skeletal remains
they won’t tell you from other
lower forms of life
No tears shed for your extinction
The horse was a peaceful creature
living free upon the plains
Until once they were subjected
to the bridle and the reins
When men had found them useful
to a purpose more malign
They were made unwitting players
to some sinister design
From Pizarro at Cajamarca
and many more since then
The horse employed as weapon
to enslave all lesser men
What could have been for many
instead advantaged only few
Living things or flying machines
for the evil that men do
They shoot horses, don’t they?
Yes, usually in the head,
but would that they should all grow thumbs
and they shoot man instead
The calendar progresses
as the sun grows long
There remains the sense
that these days are wrong
White and fuchsia blossoms
burst forth into light
The lawn grows apace
yet something’s not right
The sun has been sparing
cloud and rain more the rule
Invisible winter that reaches
like some dreaded ghoul
This grey pallor that creeps
between each ray of light
sucks the life from our waking
by some phantom fright
Using statistical models
these tyrants masquerade
as some kind of saviors
to support their charade
We can see through you
there is no mistake
the more that we give you
the more you will take
We don’t fear this virus
and this much is true
Only one menace we face
and clearly it’s you
The clean white sands of distant beach
A coveted shoreline
bathed in optimism
The hope that anything could be better
Or the sterile blandness
that only institutional grade paint can capture
Antiseptic perfume masks
the urine soaked safety
of supervised narcotic therapy
Poisons more palatable to state sanction
No more white sands await
No stadium could contain your madness
Asylum like an ocean
and no water to drink
