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Peter Steward's Web Pages |
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IN PENSIVE MOODIn pensive mood I passed the day Wasting my life and time away, 'Hush,' I heard someone cry, 'Come my child, come and die, Why live, the world's not fit, come with God, come and sit. We have a place for those that pray, a reason, a quest, a time of day. A place to live, a place of freedom where one can give. Your life is nothing, a worthless prance. Come my child, come and dance." They play with shovels, executing their wrath, Aligning themselves with mythical resistance Bordering on a fanaticism, unyielding, indivisible: Look round. They play with life, executing their wrath Ambitious to one electrifying end Worthy of insignificant silence, Riding over seas and islands. Look round.
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