A Broken Wing's Tale

Broken wings always feels
Sensitive even after healing
When in flight, a reason to be cautious

Or when the weather turns cold
Piercing itching pains in the bones
Like rheumatism with full grip

To make the strongest look vulnerable
Holding onto what seems like
Their very dear life

An old wound with scar
That holds old stories of a time
In the midst of the wilderness

I have seen angels fall
Broken all their wings
And walk the earth like destitute

A jump would even be a miracle
For once such powerful
Old kings from the heavens

They crouch when they walk
Slowly with fingers to the floor
Like Smeagol mumbling "my precious"

The only sign of who they are
Is from the dog's hysterical bark
When they sense their presence

Do not ever point and laugh
For ignorance on such matters
Is not bliss of blessing but a curse

For if the angels can fall
And loose their wings
What more of man w' nothing but ego

Broken wings always feels
Sensitive even after healing
When in flight, a reason to be cautious

Listen to the cautionary tales
Of the old folks and take heed
When they say, even t' mighty angels fall

What more of man w' nothing but ego
Building on quick sand so fast
A lego castle with haste, racing against time

The Phantom of the Opera

Let the phantom think he is mighty
With smoke gather to form
A look of the beast so great

And scare the little ones
Running to hide under beds, yelling out
For Mother a' Father's protection

I had a nightmare, a bad dream
A monster appeared on the shadows
Of my bedroom wall

When I was young
I was always scared
Of the dark, it haunted me

Leave the light on
Allow my closed eyes
To catch them red handed

When I open my eyes
No dark shadows on t' wall to hide in
Only coming out when it suits

When I open my eyes
Will you appear
Phantom of the Opera

Will you appear
Phantom of the Opera
With drama to scare a' nothing else

Puff and you are gone
With smoke gather to form
A look of the beast so great

A Quota for Heaven

Where do all the good
The bad and the ugly go
When heaven gets full

Queues long a' winding, bending
But only a few places left
As spaces designate

Is it by default
That so many souls
Would be damned

Or was it all planned
From the very beginning
How fair is that on a balanced scale

So what happens
If the scale of preference
Changes tipping to the right

And more than less
Are in for a good run
Keeping a clean sheet

Would the quota
Set as numbers limit
Be reviewed, a clause some where

To accommodate t' born agains
Or are they damned
Regardless of what they do

Are we elemental
So that we loose in weight
The more good we do

To become light as a feather
Do we shrink into tinny grains
Of sand to all fit into heaven

Or stay as large
As a haunted ghost
With sins and anger so heavy 

The Face of Love

It has been long, truly
Since I saw the face of my love

Candle lights blurred to the visions I hold
Always blind in the darkness

My senses though heightened
To walk blind, my hands stretched as guide

Bats are to be my new masters, they see in t' dark
To use radar, while I bump into walls, head first

The night is a torture of relentlessness
Sweating so hard, I am dehydrating in my sleep

The early morning brings a sigh of relief w' breeze
Though sleep finally makes a claim on debt owed

And so I am late waking up as usual
The alarm bells made redundant even after yell

My office look, is ravaged with wrinkles a' creases
In my shirt, no iron hot enough to clean this mess

Looking out of place has become the norm
Back to basics like a time in the eighties w' no light

Work takes a better part of the day
Until t' evening dust releases me from slavery

It has been long, truly
Since I saw the face of my love

An Anarchist Call Card

I wonder who pulls the anarchist's strings
We all serve a higher purpose, am told

And the politicians of the day 
Well, are not who I worry about for now 

We all know their ways are wrong 
As are their motivations on corrupt virtues 

Though for the ignorance and arrogance 
Of t' rebels with false strength, I am left at a loss 

(influential groups none ever so independent, 
tied to their source of finance ) I cannot overlook.

Confused as to who is behind the curtains
Pulling their strings on agenda, they gather 

Did we not see Libya fall to the hands
Of the anarchist, in the Arab spring

Only to become a failed state
Where no man, woman or child is safe

From the cut throat knives of the ISIS
Iraq and Syria stand as hostage, ransom is t' dead

Gaddafi and Saddam Hussien's ghost that haunt
Playing peeka boo with Casper the friendly ghost

To watch our confused and driven youth
Run from home to become our worse nightmare

Jihad John with an accent so familiar
Cutting heads like it is a fun day in the park

If the blind leads the blind, blindfolded
What good is the cries of another blind man 

Insisting on leading the blinded sheep. 
You fool, #Philosophy #politics #life 

I wonder who pulls the anarchist's strings
Are we ever so prepared for their rule.