I write down these words
as the traffic roars down the street,
while winter lays heavy,
and the snow piles deep.
I write them as the lights on the corners
blink red and green.
I write them over coffee, conversation,
and yesterday’s dream.
I watch an old soldier
begging for change.
A young girl passes by
who is obviously lame,
and for a moment,
all of these things
I wish I could rearrange
but life consumes us all,
in a bright burning flame,
until only a few pale embers remain.
So I write down my words
while traffic lights
blink red and green.
I write them over coffee, conversation,
and yesterday’s dream.
The radio speaks
of children dying in war,
of people going hungry
as they have done
so many times before,
and I begin to wonder
if our old world
can take very much more.
But all I can do
is write my refrain,
while traffic lights
blink red and green.
I write them over coffee, conversation,
and yesterday’s dream.
I heard the last whale
sing its’ sad lonely song.
It made me finally realize
that we have done so much wrong.
A hungry, mangy lion
eats up all of its pride.
How long can it be
until the rest of us die?
But all I can do
is write my refrain,
over coffee, conversation,
and yesterday’s dream,
and watch this old world
writhe in its pain,
while traffic lights
blink red and green.
Keeper of the Sword 