By The Fruit

Freedom is no easy task-

not for the enslaved. not for the free.

To be set free is a thing done once,

but the free are deprived on account of me.

There once was a beautiful tree-

heavy with fruit, and pleasing to the eye.

It's taste no man ought e'er have known

But I thought I might have a try...

Now winter comes cold ev'ry year

to kill the trees with scornful breath.

But ev'ry spring, a miracle:

Dead trees sprout buds, like Aaron's staff.

And so the dead are raised again-

new seasons come and set us free.

But you, for death, have me to thank.

It's root was Adam, it's shoot is me.

...There Your Heart Will Be Also.

Heart torn apart-

what sorrow come down

in the form of a shroud?

Hast thou departed?

Slave in the grave-

bound by so-called love

sirens sing, drink your blood

insatiable craving.

Chains promise gains-

if you love her you will live

you can have her, only give

your heart, naught withholding.

So it is "No"-

though of my bones and flesh

I shall not yearn for this,

for it is fleeting.

One day its done-

no fighting o'er the heart

good things shall not depart

for you have won her.

Wait for the day-

the day of ripened fruit

harvest is always true

in perfect timing.

Think

Follow me, said the tree.
Watch my leaves in the breeze
waving like children's hands-
branchy tree, move like he.

Do as I, said the sky.
Birds can fly far and wide
hold them up, high and proud.
Clouds he drives!  You should try.

Tit for tat!  Quoth the rat.
Think you that worth a pat?
It's the wind does those things.

Ring the cat, smarty pants!

With Every Drop

With every drop of blood

a sea placed haphazard,

carelessly flooded

open spaces, quiet glens

carrot crops laid waste

and salmon blasted, broken,

drowning in despond...

Ridiculous.  

Ye gods

He stands erect, a man of bronze

at ease above the city square.

No longer bound by vulgar law

he stands.  Unmoved by common fear.

A father to the crawling mass-

plebians trudge the wearied street.

Impossible to meet his eyes,

for man's head bides beneath his feet.

Alone he stands, closest to heav'n-

above the hands which gave him birth.

Now born of bronze, and less of flesh,

for rots his corpse beneath the earth.