I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Without principles We are easily misled By villains and fools
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
A toy and a tool Differ from one another Be mindful of that
Too many are owned by their possessions Almost nothing belongs to me alone To my master, I pose no glib questions My will belongs to him; I never groan
Don’t envy the brain It can recall forgetting Its name for itself
What sort of nation Makes education costly And narcotics free?
An old, holy rite Which may be a sacred mask For coy surveillance
You will be revealed To yourself when you notice Your own, weird mistakes
Old symbols are strange But fraud, war, famine and plague Are horsing around
Virtual shadows Should never be mistaken For living beings
Our love for the search is desperate, mad We must get over our amnesia Hunting and gathering are all we’ve had “Shopping,” “questing,” “searching”—pure poesia
Revenge heals nothing Those who seek it make their wounds Their guides and masters
A new term begins Will it differ from others? History harms hope
