Sung Within

Not of time or place, this heart of mine
still beating as loud, this mystery of life
because good answers, a silent kind.

Death is coming for us, each day faster
challenging is our preserve, our purpose
religion made irony a fool for hypocricy.

I’ve been already and continue besides
asking myself how long maybe can take
against the innocent slaughtered by god.

Straining against the mechanical decibel
has always been a humming that’s mine
a wrap against the elements sung within.

© 3/23/2005, RJDuberg

Morrow's Lament

The fresh smell sprang
inward notes that rang
across my range of love.

The dust of age, derailed…
a spring glitter light unsailed
death to dance in bromide.

Pain left this, a strange sorrow
morrow’s ungraced elegance
in voice lamenting innocence.

The call to never, at last
imprisons an emptiness,
a bloody failure of reason.

Life lies in essence
and the truth is beyond
the remaining crumbling
aims, lost in direction.

© 3/17/2005