Once upon a time, long ago,
through nothing I had ever done,
I was given advantages
and privileges above others.

And as the years rolled into a
present where all my assumptions
included these entitlements,
suddenly there were objections.

I see the inequality
and lives that matter less than mine,
but is any of this my fault?
Think on it, I am the victim!

Why am I being penalized
for my ancestors' bold success?
And why the harsh persecution
Over actions that are not mine?

Original

Lying on the bed,
two bodies lay entwined.
Sacred vows are broken
Lust is served as wine

Hands exploring
Hearts dancing in delight
after so many nights
they have long been deprived

Tasting the honey-sweet sin
forgetting the poison within,
the horned devil is laughing
the traitors' fates have been sealed

Edited Version

For Paradise is made of brutal stuff.
But fools strive for the hopelessly mundane,
while Hell shall offer good men quite enough.

One’s honor is a cold, contentious bluff.
Thence, why inquire at Valhalla’s pain,
for Paradise is made of brutal stuff.

No one of us, the frail or ersatz tough
can live a life of truth and Heaven gain
while Hell shall offer good men quite enough.

A man of high regard avows with fluff,
his lies contrived to purify God’s stain,
for Paradise is made of brutal stuff.

I am traversing
a universe of wonders
where, through mankind's inventiveness
we hear the sounds of the cosmos

I can listen to
volcanoes serenade stars
suns sing to mountains
black holes moan in chorus

abiding vibration
resonating

and, here
in the endlessly moving tapestry of eternity
where I am poised between before and after
in a present impossibly intangible

where the moment I reach for the future
it slips through my hold to the past

Original

Spring is heralded by tubular bells
filling the woods with hyacinth smells
violet, white and lavender blue
caught in the droplets of morning dew.

and the cuckoo calls in the half moon light
in the silver grey just after night
his partner chuckles cloaked in the dawn
happy the robin is rearing her spawn.

while poppies undress their whorl sepals
unfurling crumpled silken petals
revealing pinks, oranges and reds
blushing colours in the flower beds.

When life becomes rather silly,
very dangerously so,
did you know
that Americans spend more on pet grooming
than researching clean fusion power?

So sit and watch TV,
with your clean well fed pets
whilst millions of people starve
and you grow poor,
grow poor without union protection,
watch the planet die,
for corporate profit
and die with it.

Or

Protest,
vote,
commit acts of nihilist terrorism,
just do something,
please.

My home is built with tender hands, yet strong;
its roof is love that keeps it tight and warm,
its doors -respect and patience, won't go wrong
with crystal windows, even after storms.

If mild or harsh the winter seasons are,
or windy falls that tail the warmth of summer,
I see the healthy sunny days aren't far
to rest this tiresome soul once hit with hammer.