That Little Girl

Someone is eating alone in the park of many
and no-one is stretching a hand
Is she selfish
are we snobbish
Not only time but space will tell

Something is missing in the cupboard of fame
yet no-one is counting tonight
Is this horror
are we honoured
Not only scores but pain will tell

The little girl seeks company
but friendship is short
She opens up to reach out
and every hand is engaged
Yet she cuddles the wide horizon
which mummy planted in her

A little girl, an iron of yore -
she won't forget the boisterous lore
A fringe pastime, a deeply fright -
she can’t contain the rash sight
which daddy painted for her

This little girl, that tiny hand
will bring the battle-ship to shore
But if you want the anchor space
or like to stretch in case it failed
a mum, a dad may never do.

Alone To Atone

The soul who stole
paid
The soul who gave
got
So upon your rule
so within your reign
Time is speaking
again

The Court holds
with heads and hordes
with crown and clowns
Time is heavy
in pain

Soon, dear leader
you be alone
The waves cometh
the rays riseth
The soul that serves self
be alone to atone!

And We Hold On!

Denials and defiance
are the hallmarks of our rule
Demons and dethronement
have coloured our times
We create them
celebrate them
and crush them to boot
Then life goes on, again

Look back, and around
They come, they stab, they stash
No matter how we feel
No matter how they go
The world sets up a monument
We spell their names
and write their story
Making space for devils
Creating place for saints
To give both the chance
of their roll in legend

We hold on to darkness
to mirror our light
We cast the shadow
to enrich the substance
So, when the boy screams
we hush him with sweets
And when the girl flirts
we stuff her the pill
No back-steps
No new paths
Every stunt we pull
is from the new old bag

The TASK

Since divine forces freed the majors
from the fatality of politics and lucre
The fields are free again
Our patience has shamed the pain
and the guilty is running around
Sine the generals found the stomach
of patriotic honour and pride
the barrels are full  again
and the banks are heading for black
No matter the trickles and drops

Since the honourables stormed our House
the fire is flaming anew
creating a new pain again
We ask which task they choose
they answer with more flame, new looting
Each day we pray, each House a turmoil
Yet we have a task, a mission

Who is the matter in our matter
what is the call in our call
Rumbling stomachs are holding on
roving  eyes are raking ahead
but our silent fingers are hoping for hoes
not guns, not grenades
Those who have the throne have the task
we who gave the vote own the throne
So, let the message so come
and the heading so right
that the task, this task
be truly done.