A naked statue stood alone
His gaze fixed t’ward the skies
He sought to take up Heaven’s cause,
To rise above Man’s cries.
(Ten thousand inefficiencies)
The scales in my hand grow rusted
The crown on my head grows cold
Why do I feel so useless?
Why do I feel so old?
(Twenty thousand lies)
My calloused knees both crumble
My penitent hands unfold
Where do my prayers not take me?
Why can’t this lead be gold?
(Twenty thousand mortal sins)
The ink in my quill grows bloody
The thoughts in my mind grow bold
When will I find redemption?
When will all tales be told?
(Ten thousand inefficiencies
Twenty thousand lies
Twenty thousand mortal sins
Till all around me dies.)
Children crash in
Boy and girl makes two
He chubby, she thin
Excited by the sight of something new.
To smell, to taste, to feel without sin
In the manner that children do.
And they made the place just a little bit warmer
Thought the old man quietly dying in the corner.
Their parents follow after
Each heavy with the troubles of life
Long gone now is their laughter
Replaced by worry, regret, backache and strife
But a glimmer remains up in the rafters
Of the children they were before husband and wife
And their presence seemed to end the joy of the former
Noticed the old man quietly dying in the corner.
Finally grandparents enter
Slower they are, but wryly aware
She clutching a scarf that her great aunt once sent her
They look on the others with compassion and care
Standing just slightly off from the centre
They ponder whether youth was ever theirs
And the others lowered their heads down like mourners
Observed the old man quietly dying in the corner.
I stand amid a grove of trees, among a greater grove of trees, which lie in the centre of what becomes a forest. The underbrush surrounds me; ferns and mushrooms and flowers unidentified, and among them the roots of trees and the moss that feeds thereupon. Small pines of white and red, sprinkled with the occasional wind-swept Jack, tower up around me in a voluminous palisade. But out from among these, greater than the greatest of them, towers the single great white pine. It towers over two hundred feet into the air, but its true power is immeasurable. It stands stoic against the sky, towering above my head and piercing the heavens as it blots out the sun. Standing before it, I feel small and insignificant as it dwarfs my small, frail form. I feel the desire to prostrate myself, conceding it superiority and attesting to its greatness. Before it, all works of man peel apart like burning paper and blow into the wind. Man’s works of steel crumble to the sea in its shadow, and I am reminded that there is an inexorable power that was here before us, and will continue to exist once we have passed on. And I am in awe.