There goes my hero, watch him as he goes. . .

Some Bridges Are Better Off Burned (A Slam)


Perhaps there are two men in every soul
A coward, and a noble man.
This much, at least, I understand.
In a world of poor and sick and dying
Of wars and fears and mere trying
To wake up this morning alive
We're more worried about shagging and bragging,
Shacking up and packing up, shucking clothes
And lucking into the right bed
And who is doing what with whom
As though this narrow bridge has ample room
For both our egos and our baggage.
We blame churches for deliverance
From what surely would be providence
Toward souls as pure as uncommon sense
Would dictate ours to be.
Blame governments for starting war
And governments for stopping more
For death always stimulates the economy.
Blame fathers for daughters and mothers for sons
Blame murder on children playing with red BB guns.
Hate others and brothers for hating each other
And brothers for being from the same mother as me
Until I hate everyone because I believe.
I hate you, and you hate me
It's in the equation of what we might be.
It's not dying I'm scared of
(That's just being without breath)
It's the life that comes first, not the one that comes next.
Perhaps I was wrong and I blamed the wrong throng
For all the problems I thought I could see.
For there is only one man inside of this soul
There is only the coward
Yes, there's only me
And perhaps the true problem isn't where I thought it would be.

1

Less

And everything feels like regression

Back to the mean, into the lean

Years of famine

Of hoarding, of cramming

Dull lives into bleak days

Until the haze would raise

And we'd be paralyzed by forgotten rays

Of promise. Let's be honest,

The moment passed, the die was cast

And I was carved out of dust and ash.

Yes, I am a ware in a peddler's stash

Anything for a little quick cash

I am the king of a valley of trash

For every time I've thrown myself away

In the hope of a yesterday

That holds no future sway.

Maybe I'm just here on my own

Maybe I thought I was here all alone

Maybe we're aliens desperate for home

In a world to which we've never belonged.

And maybe simpler thoughts convey more

Perhaps simpler words preserve lore

It might be that simpler waves can save shores

And the overly complex destroys all in its wake.

For art is the magic of give and of take

It's not always better to add more to make

A masterpiece.

So in this art that You're making

I'm tired of faking

And pretending I have good gifts to bring

All that I am is here for the shaking

That brings down and rebuilds all things.

So come ease this aching

I'm here for the taking

And make this world better with less

Take me away

Take me away

And save all the rest

Give us grace, give us love, grant us rest

And Lord, of myself, give me less.