By The Way, and one way alone,
Earth’s silent message to man shall be known.
Waiting till death shall darken his eyes,
On silent wings, his end emphasise,
And in stress interpret, with knowledge lessed,
Shall be guided by fear in the heaving breast.
And the thunder shall roar, o’er a raging sea,
As man worships in vain, a false deity.
His world wracked with storms, the skies dark above,
The Earth spills her anger, from man’s lack of love,
Her cries shall be heard, on too good summer’s day,
Unseasonable frost glint on the meadows of May.
So shall silence be heard, in abandoned seashells,
But man shall still answer false deities’ bells.
The Earth shall stand void, her waters burning like flame,
But man shall still whisper false deitie’s name.
Though witness he death, by the green of the tree,
He shall neither know reason nor shall knowledge decree.
Like he with the hammer, who on marble drew,
Engraving the words of that life he knew.
The believers not hearing, loud shouting, “Hail!”,
As into man’s coffin, is firm driven each nail.
Men without spirit, with mind bound in chain,
Shall not hear me, nor see me, and yet shall lay blame.
So I sit, and I watch, with naught I can do,
As each man who cooks, shall eat of this stew.
© R. G. Crosbie 2003
