You said you loved, I thought it true, Loved me, I heard you say, But there was something in your smile, That cut the warming air with cold, As we walked among the trees, Where children played hide and seek, Content that Spring was here, The buds and leaves, the winter gone, Some thing I could not see, Until you dropped my hand, and turned, To tell me, “It’s a lie,” And as I watched, you walked away, Past the children in their play, Down the path we once had walked, Sharing kisses on the way, To meet another love, another way, Whilst I stood in contemplation, Of who I was, and why, Then five years on, by some fated chance, There you were again, Standing on the platform, Waiting for the train, in tears, So asked softly what was wrong, At which you turned to me, As though a vision had appeared, And cried out, “Each long day has made me mad, I yearn for you, I long for you, The other is now just bitterness, My only love is you,” But when came the train, she kissed me once, Then, “Farewell, it's too late to change things now,” And so I stood, in thought again, Thinking, I must have had a dream; Yet, alone, at night, I hear your voice, I feel your kiss, and wonder how you are, As we walk beneath the trees again, Our arms entwined, our eyes entranced, Together, you and I.
It’s a hard thing to wake at dawn, And wonder why the day was born, To feel the night still drag you down, Like an aged queen who’s lost her crown, And despairing, searches all her life, For one to save her, to take the knife, To wake in silence to a glooming room, As if the world had met its doom, No sound of voice, no children’s song, Too late for that, it’s been too long; To open eyes to a world gone mad, And so, the constant state of being sad, Unheard, unseen, unloved, unknown, Thinking that the fault’s your own, But then there came a tapping- Which became a louder rapping, Upon the white-framed window pane, On which there drummed a dreary rain, The majestic rapping of a kingly crow, That saw me toss my head in woe, And called to me, “Awaken, from your semi-death, A new day dawns, draw deep a breath.”
You are making me crazy, And I don’t know why, Crawling out of my skin, The only hope to die, Who are you? Even the mirror lies, Reflecting back the stare, Of wild, empty eyes.
In the dark, cold, night of doom, Words are said, that shed the gloom, And wake a woman’s waiting womb, Who weeps before her lover’s tomb, Though lives he still, although entombed; Words that cry out loud for life, In midst of war’s eternal strife, Cry out for peace, to dull the knife, To dull the drums, the calling fife, That call to us, from ancient place, Now lost to us in time and space, “Regard the glass, regard your face, Look you! See! That Love has gone, without a trace; You’ve turned to stone, are hardened things, But still inside an ember lies, To warm the heart, to greet the skies, If only you could once be wise, Could rise again, before it dies".
The clouds lit up and split the night, Six times the flash was seen, Then unknown things plunged down to earth, As fast as eyes could see; Six by six, they tore the sky, Like bolts thrown down by Zeus, In ancient times, against the wrongs of Man, To scorch the plains where evil bred, To burrow deep, to burn the rot; When Gods, in anger, slew the fools, Who defied the laws that kept the peace, Defied their wisdom, defied their love; The clouds lit up and split the night, And all looked on amazed, For it seemed avenging angels, Had shed their wings in holy wrath, To begin the final end on Earth, Of Lords of war and hate.
Where is the grave of War, my friend? Does it lie upon a mountain high, or in a desert vast, Or down below a troubled sea, seething with the past, Oh, can you tell me, quickly, and there me quickly send, For then I’ll know it’s over now and Peace again descend.
They say it is a monster, a nightmare roused awake, Ready deep within us, ugly, deadly, dark, To spread chaos universal and snuff life’s feeble spark, That feeds on sorrow, hatred, heartache, And drinks deep to quell its hunger from a blood-filled lake.
And if no grave exists where rots its stinking head, Then surely we must slay it, rid the world of pain and death, But what’s been done to do it, or do I waste my breath, On a quest that’s more than urgent, one I cannot shed, But nor you nor they me answer, just weep for all dead.
Where are all our heroes gone? Where the ones who dared and bled? Buried beneath the setting sun, Forgotten, with the deeds they’ve done? Who will sing their songs again, Or speak their words for us once more, And dream, in dreams of anguished pain, A better world, where love is law?
I wake each day to darkening clouds, And wonder how all by us was lost, Reduced to dust in mouldy shrouds, As summer’s dew transforms to frost. Where the shadows, the light, the trees, The way of life, the way of death, The ancient bird that flew the seas, That gentle air, your yearning breath?
The many claim, “oh, he’s the one, yes, he’s the truth,” Yet on looking close there’s nothing there, But vapours foul, the wars the proof, The Earth destroyed, without a care, Though one Imagined, then was shot, For singing of the working class, While others in their prisons rot, And our hopes? - They're just so much shattered glass.
One Voyce of the World 