What's a man to do

Thoughts, so many thoughts.
Doubts, so many doubts.
Truths, so many truths,
Certainties so few.
What's a man to do?

Molecules

I am a collection of molecules.
Who'd of thought they were such fools?

What I want, when I want

In a supermarket shopping one day, I saw a child in a push chair, kicking, the shins of a poor old lady!
.
Please don't do that the old lady said,
It really hurts upon my leg.
Ignoring her plea,
The wicked child kicked on with glee.
The old lady turned to his ignoring mother for help.
"Please", she pleaded once more, "please tell your little whelp,
To stop kicking my poor old legs,
It hurts, please tell him to stop" she begs.

To which the chavvy little mother replied,
"He's my son and he shall not be denied."
"He can do what he wants, where he wants, when he wants"!
A man overhearing turned and in delightful response,
Took a jam jar from the shelf,
As if to buy it for himself.

Unscrewing the lid, he poured the contents over her hair.
"You see", he said, with an unflinching glare",
As all around began to stare,
"If you are not bothered then it's only fair
That I can do what I want, when I want and where,
Because if you dont then why should anyone care"?

Shades

We are many shades of many colours,
The seconds and minutes in the hours,
The winding valleys, beneath the mountains,
The crystal water of spouting fountains,
The scented petals of colourful flowers,
The winter drizzle in fresh spring showers.

We are the breath of the northerly winds,
The tropical heat on sun burned skins,
The grains of sand upon the beaches,
The mellow flavour, of yellow peaches.
We are the darkness in the moonless nights,
The flash of lightening, a spark ignites.

We are the words that tell a story,
Of history past and deeds of glory,
We are the thoughts our voices speak,
The ghostly shadows, of times antique.
We are father, mother and ancestor feint,
Brush strokes of creation, on a canvas of paint.

We are the yellow and green in shades of blue,
Of colours many, from colours few.
We are the shades of grey in black and white,
The light of day and the dark of night.
We are the music of concerto and violin string,
The soprano and tenor, when we sing.

We are part devil, part god, you see,
One and the same, for eternity.
I am you and you are me,
In varying form and subtle degree.
I am the beginning and I am the end,
I am your enemy and I am your friend.

Celestial Chess

It was not my will  to live or to die.
So whose will am I?

Since my will is neither here nor there,
And I know not what I'm doing here,
I am the will of some other force,
Set upon its chosen course.

Since I have no say,
In the coming of the night
Or the passing of the day,
I am just a pawn, in a game of celestial chess,
Whose beginning and end I cannot guess.

I can only embrace the life I am given,
And wonder where from death I shall be driven.

When

When the world around you has gone mad,
When you no longer recognise the good from the bad,
When right becomes wrong and wrong becomes right,
When we drink not to laugh but the courage to fight,
When instead of a smile we simply stare,
When we throw out the elderly from their homes of care,
When we spy every move through a camera’s lens,
When we lock every door and homes become dens,
When image is all and substance a sin,
When truth is lost to deceit and spin,
When no one cares and no one votes,
When we burn our bridges and sink our boats,
When we sell our heritage down the drain,
When all that matters is profit and gain,
When every day brings trouble and strife,
What is the point of living a life?

Future Been

The future has been!
Tell me what have you seen?
Have you seen the beginning as well as the end?
Were you once my enemy, are you now my friend?
Did we fight a thousand wars just to live in peace?
Did you fly with an eagle, did you dance with the geese?
Have you seen the beginning and the journey's end?
Do you know what awaits you around the next bend?
If it is not the future then where have we been?
If it is not the future what have we seen?


Time

Stone

Unwitting man did knives and spears fashion,
From cold grey rock, bereft of passion.
On battlefields throughout the ages,
As told in history's pages,
Did metal turned from stone,
Spill crimson blood from crushing bone.
T’is not easy to comprehend
Nor know, where it will end?
But all this, from simple stone
We foolish beings, must atone.

Sound

The rhythmic crashing, of ocean waves upon the sand,
Speak of mysteries, mortals cannot understand.
The whisper of chattering palms in the breeze,
Speak a language known only to the trees.
Crackling sparks on a burning wood fire,
Kindle in us some ancient desire.
The trickle of water, in winding streams,
Rock us gently in hypnotic dreams.

The murderous sound of whistling shells,
Of anguished cries, a thousand hells,
The last breath of a child dying,
A heartbroken mother, left crying.
In thunderous crash, God’s anger sound.
In tumbling rain, his tears abound.
Oh! sounds of men do bring us fear.
T'is the sound of God, we need to hear.