O to rise above sins of earth!
War continues from before my birth.
War is natural and habitual,
Historical, endowed with ritual.
War is quite natural, or so it seems.
Nature is calling, when you hear screams.
We don’t a scientist to figure it out.
War is just natural, without a doubt.
War is as natural as it can be,
Natural as a beehive, up in a tree.
Facts are facts, though misunderstood,
We must accept the bad with the good.
As war continues through history,
May as well get used to the misery.
War will continue, after we die.
War is natural, don’t ask me why.
(Published by The Society of Classical Poets Literary Journal, April 1, 2018)
There is a god, playing a game.
Win or lose, it is all the same.
The one playing is all of us.
Not just riders, we drive the bus.
The train of life goes around the bend;
To know what’s coming, the game would end.
We exist to play, and to entertain.
Not just riders, we drive the train.
Hide and go seek, peek a boo!
You can see me and I see you.
Talking to you is talking to me.
We are the same, in reality.
Separation is a grand illusion,
The concept of self, only delusion.
It all is part of this game we play.
Live to die, and play another day.
Moonlight glimmers upon the ocean,
Dancing with the water’s motion.
Ancient waves roll up on the shore,
Before we came and forever more.
I was born and that’s it.
I learned how to spit.
Rain falls silently on the sea
As nature works in harmony.
Ease my soul and make it free.
Guide me through eternity.
Raindrops falling upon the ocean,
Quietly melt in the ocean’s motion,
Forever void of all emotion.
Eternity is more than a notion.
War is natural, so is death.
Dead before we take a breath.
Not to complain, let me explain:
We have no pleasure, without pain.
There are opposites for a reason.
Hot and cold, each has a season.
Black and white and wrong and right,
Dark and light and day and night.
Without mentioning any names,
One in charge is playing games.
The way to stay is to go away.
A stage is set, perform the play:
We cannot live, unless we do not.
Oh my, what an intriguing plot!
It keeps us on edges of our seats.
It is on and off, then it repeats.
Mountains are high, valleys deep.
In birth we wake, in death we sleep.
Unconscious, unaware we’re gone,
Death is night, birth is dawn.
No happiness without fear,
Nor laughter without a tear.
There is no love, without hate.
To wonder why, a hopeless fate.
(Published by The Society of Classical Poets Literary Journal, April 1,2018)
At a certain age of youth
Everything is known
At a certain stage the truth
After aging is not shown