Poem(s)

ll the years one waits and dreams;
ny man might wait forever.
etter the heart that waits its life,
roken, mended, and broken again.
an you wait and, waiting, grow?
enter your life, then hope, then grow.
eceive not your heart, the wait is toil,
reams may be killed , erode as rust, dried husks
ver crumbling, falling, dying of lack--
ndure!  Renew!  From ashes grow the hope
or love and life that waits until its time
lourishes, fertilized by the very ashes of its failures.

rand words make up the speech of people working;
lad sounds make up their songs--although sadness may prevail.
appiness may be found among the words, but not often among the men
appening to seek those illusive connections among their words.
nsights into internal meanings mean
insipid phrases are fraught with self-fulfilled hope.
umbled phrases, scrambled words feed minds
esting with sentience, laughing at fools,
eeping balance between the scholars and clowns,
knifeblade balances of love and laughter.
ong may the jesters play mirror to the fools
eft in high esteem by better persons now gone.

errymaking and libraries just do not agree, this
istake most men make because the Temple to Knowledge
o noise partakes in its holy worship of mind;
ever ye mind that joy, also, from the mind springs!
nerous study among the rows of shelves;
pen coded languages, auto data files;
ress the mind, depress the soul, and impress
ersons of magnitude--of gases, not brilliance,
uickly measured for public consumption and votes,
uiescence of masses, quietness of stacks, querulous
eaders, annoyed by politicians and their entourage
ousing remote desires of homeward ways.

ing of the silvery clouds outside my room;
ilence singes minds of men and moods.
errible visions of glory or gore remain
roubling the waters of memory with sights so vain
nless there comes some help, our hope will not
nfold before the masses, only a mask's
isage, aglow with glowering frowns and clouds.
isits from darkness and terror descend on us.
ait! This night will pass, leaving a bright sky
elcoming back the hopeless wanderers, renewed.
enophobes fear the other, the new, that which they aren't;
erography plainly produces the same, the same.

et for each descent comes time for renewal,
earning for the new that restores the old, the better.
iggurats and libraries, ancient symbols of wisdom and knowlege, the
eniths of knowlege, still straining toward the heights.

20010409/0515
Steve R. Morris