Hell
In Dante’s Inferno, when trying to describe
the houses of Hell’s lamentations
the torments, the trials, laid quick to ascribe
amidst the curses and blessings of nations
Why Would You Want to be Old?
My days are numbered I know that well
it is why I’m stuck here in this living hell
the biscuits stale, the tinkle of tea
and the nurses told not to bother with me
We’re not to Blame
It’s not our fault, we’re not to blame
we’re just trying to maintain our freedom
we mine our dark materials, this is not a game
because there are other poor people who need ‘em
Why do I do it?
I don’t do it for you , so your thoughts can rest easy
as you nod in your pleasant agreement
while you sip on your drink, peculiar and queasy
at my anticipated long due achievement
If Not This, Then What?
It’s not the Masses, not the torments,
not the nightmares of our longing
Not the grasslands, not the homelands,
not the roads to our belonging
One Day Closer Every Day
Sheep droop jaw and hooves split in the stumble for the hay,
eager teeth picking at the stubble and the crust
Knees buckle their hollow humble eyes stare down and absorb
what was mud is now unsullied deep red dust