A-MUSE-MENTS
~ 1 ~
'Tis all that I am called that I must be,
For 'tis in the eye of the caller to thus see,
Thus where I walk the pathways not my own,
Lead oft into old fields oft newly sown.
I'm sometimes measured by the things I say,
More oft in fact than actions I convey,
For while intruding into the bigots park,
Words like buffoon becomes the ill remark.
But then I'm conscious of the biased tools,
That fit only in the hands of prejudiced fools,
Who's rhapsodies are played by subservient choirs,
Directed by ancient priests in obscure biers.
For when in doubt, let guilt be thus performed,
That with such fruitless vesture I'm adorned
~ 2 ~
If I could speak my mind and just be heard,
Without my words by efforts being deterred,
I would perhaps be better understood,
By those in hearing who'd listen if they could.
More oft no thought is given to what I say,
That the trails do fork somewhere along the way,
That what was not intended forms the view,
Of some who do not really have a clue.
So eager some do wait with bated breath,
That to the others words bring instant death,
That their own words do challenge and provoke,
With out a thought on what the other spoke.
That all those in the fray do lose the point,
And argue out a sequence that is out of joint.
~ 3 ~
I am altogether but a simple man,
I was not made to any sort of plan,
Nor was my life mapped out before my birth,
And in the end the grave will gauge my worth.
Born in a war and destined to be small,
My life would be competing with the tall,
But who would see me there among the crowd,
I tower not over those who are quite loud,
Though from my book they take what they may,
'Tis by their own desire they will have their say,
Yet seldom based on thought that is their own,
For from someone else's works their words are known.
Alas though, some are meant to build a fire,
The flames produced are another's fond desire.