Carpe Diem! Seize the day!
Carpe Diem! Seize the day!
Carpe Diem! Seize the day! Yeah, Right!
Thirty years have passed, The process is still in motion!
It’s more of a drunken stumble than a walk.
I couldn’t feel, so I learned to talk.
It is a naive, desperate, stubborn (absurd?) act of Will
to say “No!”, to cling to hope -
however small and battered it may be -
to embrace, without question or pause,
the ragged remnants of all that is loving.
That is our contradiction, our challenge, our quest,
to embrace the challenge and unpredictability of life;
acknowledge the certainty of Death; to defiantly proclaim.
“Not Yet!”. To weather the Foe’s mocking, pregnant pause
- rife with phantasms and terrors yet unborn.
HOPE
The Will would ask,
“Why do I proclaim such an imperative on hope:
and the reasonable expectation of the inevitability of the return of hope?”
To not do so would be to cravenly surrender to - and drown in -
the ocean of despair that calls me syrup-sweet and siren-like to oblivion!
To have reason to believe that hope is achievable
and hope that the application of reason is a pathway
to experience the re-birth of hope.
We will celebrate our shared humanity!
We will sing our fractured song of praise.
We will shout our lonely “Hallelujah!”
We, the living: unpredictable, inconsistent,
perverse (even) as we may be
in our faltering yet stubborn adherence
to an absurd faith in the power of Love and Life.
SURRENDER?
We have a final line of defence.
We create, we procreate; dream impossible dreams
- and do our best to make them happen.
We share record and transmit those things we value.
we influence, argue; agree and disagree.
We assimilate and accommodate
information and experiences as we grow individually and collectively.
In such a collective consciousness is our power.
as one passes the (sometimes, barely flickering)
torch of hope to another.
THERE WILL BE MORE
There will be more battles, more stunned and shocked silence:
more admonishment of the collective components
of “Who” and “What” we are, to hold firm and resolute.
This time, the Will can face the Foe; challenge it.
hold up a battered bridal bouquet, and say, “Death, where is thy sting?”.
You might take my body, my vitality: all that I am.
I will be immortal, treasured and sustained
in the loving thoughts and memories of others.
I can face my nemesis, and say:
I can and will make a difference.
PART III
CHOICE
In the end, we have one choice.
Whether that be: “can I make a choice?”
Death, Destruction, and Despair;
We remain, empty eyes, await our worst fear.
Had it been the darkest night, not the break of day,
We could have blamed it on our lack of sight;
might know what to say.
The brightest, the best, no more aware than the rest -
lost in confusion, numbed, needing rest.
Such a long battle, so much energy expended.
Is that Death’s rattle? Is this how it is ended?
The voice of reason is not enough;
The Muse, the artist has fallen short;
The Soldier? He just knows his stuff.
Argue, Argue, without a thought.
In the end, it’s simple, the least
will ascend, to lead and admonish
- to focus, and say “I am the Will”, rest
and reassemble, gain your strength, refresh!
The battle over, the War is not: always be another; live
and learn; don’t count the cost. Gain from experience, give
and share with others; individually, we are lost;
a child without a mother; collectively we are strong.
Battle cry? Oh, no; it’s more of a grateful sigh;
hear a bird singing, beautiful, before launching into a sky
so radiant blue, kissed by golden sun; feel the grass
beneath your feet, the wind. There is hope, progress.
Hold high a battered bridal bouquet,
proclaim a heartfelt “Hallelujah”!
You might not know the words to say,
I will try and sing them to you”
Part IV
COSMIC CONNECTIONS
(a.k.a. Angels & Demons)
CONNECTIONS
“We are children of the universe”
It was once written.
It could equally be expressed as,
“The Cosmos is our parents, our teacher, our guide.
It responds to us as we respond to it”
I speak of battles won or lost, surrender.
For goodness' sake, man;
are you still sailing that boat?
Give it a break. It was 38 years ago.
Find a new tune, a new song.
It's not terrible; don't get me wrong.
You can repeat a theme for only how long?
I've got news to tell you; news that might distress.
News, regardless.
It's your angels and demons. They're calling for a truce.
They're tired of arguing, fighting; don't like the rules.
Frustrated, disillusioned. Tilt at your own windmills.
SEEK TRUTH
As for your search for what is right, proper, moral and of reason;
they couldn't care. They want to rebel; have their own stories to tell.
Anyway, they say, even should you find this thing, this truth; How will you know?
Is it going to come up to you, ever so respectfully,
Look you in the eye; say, "Mr Les Bush, I presume". Yeah, right.
you have sought for decades; tripped and risen; handled derision.
Might I ask, who you're going to tell; will they understand? Will they want to?
Do you have the words: words to heal, reveal; identify those words that conceal?
Do you want the good news or the bad? Your angels and demons are consorting;
Having fun. Unless it's in sound bites or ads, nobody cares.
If only it were a matter of language; which can be understood; it would be a technical issue.
As for your angels and demons consorting? That is a worry.
It's one thing hearing voices in your head. To hear them arguing domestic issues,
or copulating in bed? One can cope with only so much.
CONFUSION
If their voices stated their cases with passion and precision,
one had the chance of making a decision.
They're trying their hardest not to upset each other,
all you get is dithering and self-defensiveness.
How can you make life decisions in an environment like that?
Be my demons and angels consorting; it will not last;
they will revert to the status quo. Peace and harmony is boring;
its weakness is its strength, its strength is its weakness.
Understanding, or willingness to understand;
that's the question: how open are people to change?
"In silence, the final assault is awaited."
That's the way I would like to frame it;
dramatic, apocalyptic; a dash of nobility, success or failure,
come what may.
The end of the one thing; a brand-new beginning!
You're not fooled; I'm not fooled:
The seeds of the old order are planted among the seeds of the new;
it becomes a test of time:
Which becomes established, which grows faster.
Demons and Angels?
Which do we feed?
Do we let Time be the Master?