Apocalypse Dawn (a warning to warmongers)

Daylight, a sickly hue sweeping over
A city of remains.

Shattered, the skeleton of a city of hope.
Jagged spears that protrude from the ground,
Pale shadows of man's achievments.

Lifeless, what had once been vibrant.
What had once been the pride of liberty,
What had once been the callsign of freedon,
What had once been the city of dreams.

Despair, is all that is left.
No more would free souls pursue their dreams,
In a sanctuary of liberty where all things were possible.
The stars in their eyes have been extinguished
In a mushroom growth of fiery power.

Folly, was what felled the arched bridge.
the lady of liberty sleeps in her watery grave,
A shining beacon forevermore lost.
Tattered and torn is the symbol of the imperial state,
The central patch of beauty stripped by hate,
The descendent of the twin giants meeting its predecessors' fate.

Death, engendered within its towers.
O! How the starting point of freedom
engineered the means for its own demise!
The means of death which stopped the second great war,
Which flew the coop to start an age of uncertainty,
To become the root of the third great war,
And finally returned to the place of its making.

The chicken has hatched,
Flown the coop,
And returned to roost.

The broken soul of the city of the dead,
A herald of the horrors of the coming days ahead.

From Men about Women (with thanks to Allan and Barbara Pease)

Me, as a man, I ask thee about women,
The eternal question of why they are so different.
'Tis strange, is the manner of the nature of Venusians,
A mystery they are to us befuddled Martians.
Why do they delight in torturing us so,
With their manner of speech that goes where the winds blows?
And why do they do things that puts our integrity at risk,
Such as loaded questions as unanswerable as, "Does my butt look fat in this?"
Why do they ask us whether we'll like to get some coffee,
Then sulk minutes later and say, "Why won't you get some for me?"
And what is it about ther mood swings that makes us take flight,
The manic-depressive episodes that makes them lik Jekyll and Hyde?
How do they stow the butter such that we men can't find it,
Then miraculously pull it out from the fridge as if by magic?
And why do they keep scolding us, "Don't take that tone with me!",
Even before we clueless men know what's going on already?
Why is it that they can see things without looking,
From the car keys in the corner to knowing when we're ogling?
And yet why can't they do other things with their god-like sight,
Such as parking a car or reading maps right?
Why di the lie-detector's inventor even bother,
When the truth-sense of all women is truly beyond wonder?
And why, when we and they get in a spat,
Do they accuse us of always this and always that?
Finally, a question which I must ask all men,
For it truly is a mind-blower that gets my mind bent,
If they women are beings so strange and so troublesome,
Why in the world do we men still love 'em?

The Unheard Voice Of An Unseen Entity

From what I see sitting here,
Big things have been happening lately.
Big men have said Big words,
making Big changes to the Big world.
Big visionaries have presented Big achievements,
while Big wars have claimed Big numbers of lives.
Big things have been happening lately,
From what I see sitting here.

Yet, why is small me sitting here?

Why is small me still stuck in this small place,
listening to these things through small talk?
Having but a small place in life,
To which small me must be content?
'Tis small wonder small me is helpless,
able to do nothing but small things.
Listening to these things through small talk,
A small me stuck in this small place.

And there's nothing to be done about that.

A Big someone has chewed out
small me for daydreaming again.
'Tis time to return to my place in life.