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EDGES MAGAZINE Issue
25 |
April 2001 |
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Know Me
You got to
give a little, 'cos I take a little,
You say you have it all, but is it all
enough ?
I've taken more before, and I will again,
You mean nothing,
your all never enough.
So, another man ruined - the truth hurts,
You're weak compared to me,
Your future's bleak when stained with me,
'Cos I stain.
Believe.
I paint a bleak picture.
Your
destructive streak I take to make you falter,
Your destiny I alter. The
rest of you I scar for fun,
My work with you is done - like some dark sun,
On the world I shine through you.
I am your soul, your only goal,
Your heart I stole, your heart so cold,
My sane to your pain, my love
to your shame,
My dust to your name, my soul to your vein.
My
warmth to your tear. |
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Farmers
The incessant pounding of life's heartbeat,
Surely stifles more
eloquent forms of thought,
My blunted wits about me simple tasks,
I find
are now a battle fought,
With a colonial effort I struggle, unhinged,
In this increasingly monochrome world,
Cynicism an unwelcome visitor,
Just walk away son - this oyster holds no pearl,
How I long for the day
when I can rest,
A time again of colour and sweet smells,
My distressed
machine is winding down,
And I know not where my wonder dwells,
I find
myself lost in this damaged affair,
My mind's precious reserves are wearing
thin,
And ever decreasing periods of calm,
Hold little comfort as I
rest within,
Soon surely the pickets will rise,
Protesters of a furious
bent,
The imposed duty is too much,
And the farmers grow discontent.
All Gone
Give me a
name,
So you know me,
Tell me your story,
Though I've heard them
all before,
Show me your hand,
For as an ardent disbeliever,
I know
of nothing but myself,
Show me the sun rise over flowered fields,
Show
me a lost world,
Show me nothin at all,
Give me a cold heart,
So
this passing freeze I can bear,
Take my wonder,
For as a dead kid in a
dirty war,
I find it's wasted here,
And softly,
Quietly,
These
empty streets I dare to tread,
So,
For a moment,
Tread them with
me. |
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Godfood
Here I sit with my
pleasure,
At the table of the gods,
And the food is exquisite,
And
dining is for fools,
Would that I knew my mind's pleasure,
As my
pleasure knows my mind,
And I knew not for a second,
And on the eighth
day we dined,
Now my pleasure having tasted,
Cannot leave again with
me,
And I sit without my pleasure,
And I long to forget,
Though I
should leave my pleasure there,
I cannot leave it be,
So for now I take
my pleasure,
As my pleasure takes me. |
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