Polyglots

Our spirits are polyglots,
Did you know this?
They can speak many languages,
Even tongues unknown to man,
They converse without our knowing,
Master linguists trapped in luddite bodies,

It is why lovers can talk with their eyes,
Infants know the warmth of a parent,
Why a soldier stands frim beside brothers,
And monsters congregate in packs,

I daresay their work is an uphill fight,
Division is the common tongue of man,
They display it every day,
Unlike we humans,
Souls see each other,
And they listen.

Blindness

Is it blindness that hides pain from our eyes?
The struggle of others,
The ruined mascara and sweat,
The lines of strain penned upon their faces,
Our eyes seem to cloud over at the spectacle,
An unfeeling milky grey,
Our hands cupped over our minds eye,

How are we so blind?
Or do we not want to see it?
We say it’s none of our business,
That they’ll pull through,
You don’t need a reason to help,
Nor a reward,
So pry open those damn eyes,

Is it blindness?
Truly?
Or is it selfishness?

Hampers

Life rarely gives us presents,
Or gift baskets,
Not without due cost,
It prefers to take and chastise,
Providing only buckets of sand,
The world is a cruel enough place,
Let’s not make it worse,
Let’s lighten the weight instead,

So leave a hamper of happiness yourself,
A little verbal picnic,
A kind word on a cracker,
A compliment sandwich with ham and lettuce,
It need not be lavish,
Compassion need not be gaudy champagne,
To any soul you come across,
A pleasant hamper may be everything.

That Old Ensign

I see the flag,
That old ensign,
But I do not serve it,
A flag is mere fabric,
A textile icon of the past,

Preach not to me,
Of patriotism and servitude,
Of loyalty and treason,
Of fealty and monarchs,
I shall not heed you,

I am not my birthplace,
I am not your history,
I am not your hate,
Your bigotry or your intolerance,
I am not the empire,

I’m a human,
Not a nation,
I’m not here to entertain you,
Not going to fight for you,
I march to only one drum and flag,

That of the human heart,
That of humanity.

Lost Soul

I love this city,
I walk it day and night,
The streets are a banquet of sight and sound,
I wouldn’t change them for anything,
Though they be as grungy as my longcoat,

A bedlam of suit and tie ants,
A compost heap of taxes and bills,
Seething like a corpse,
With all the magic and horror,
That mankind can muster,

So I aimlessly frolick,
Amongst these concrete orchards,
Full of silicon souls,
And hollow men,
They avoid my kind gaze,

I didn’t long for this life,
This squalid existence,
It was a sour gift,
From the louts at the bank,
These fingerless gloves weren’t outstretched,

But a mans got to eat,
Back to work,
So I raise my wooden banner,
“Will work for food”,
A grimy tear falls.