mistaken decision

none left but those who won’t pass through the door
leaders who give no great degrees of hope
a million hours of climbing up that slope
and still the choice is made to fight the war

you do those things that honest folk abhor
the rules are not the thing that matter most
to those for whom the magic is the boast
and still the choice is made to fight the war

a year or two before you see the score
shallow the thought of those who have to hide
but lesser even the rewards of pride
and still the choice is made to fight the war

there was a garden in that place before
you burned it down and left a wasteland sere
there was no need you had the time to spare
and still the choice is made to fight the war

you have to ask us to give so much more
although in truth there’s never been the need
the monster speaks in hunger and in greed
and still the choice is made to fight the war

none can it seems an honest time restore
honour has been delivered to its grave
there is no decent moment left to save
and still the choice is made to fight the war

all our words add up to quiet

all our words add up to quiet
not a thought we have of sound
light and shade here do abound
the wise man’s eternal diet

sing aloud and each may listen
hour on hour of meaning froze
into place by knots and bows
while outside the grass will glisten

each reply will come uncertain
nothing’s left to random chance
any fool can learn the dance
well before the final curtain

none speaks

none speaks but answers come
the world we have is odd
we learn this from each bod
first thing you eat’s the plum

the world reaches its sum
we take it on the nod
not one who’s not a clod
but’s steady on the bum

the voice is just a hum
but better than the rod
we know beneath the sod
the world is deaf and dumb