Organ

I‘ve heard it can love, again and again,
And nothing can detract from its vigour,
No matter the crush of failure and pain,
Or of the stress of life or its rigour.

I have heard (now know) of its strength unmeasured,
As it makes heroes rise and empires fall;
It can single you out to be untreasured;
Yet ables you to stand against it all.

It teaches you just to feel and not learn,
It gives you your self, yet takes you away,
It makes you happy and it makes you yearn,
It stays with you when it leads you astray.

Even when word and thought are unspoken
It hums its song even when it lies broken.

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Before You Know It

When the world is going bat-shit crazy
and neo-nazis hurl hate,
governments turn religion into missions
and everyone misplaces faith,

the centre goes spinning
and, all around it, fire unfurls,
peripheries start to burn
in the hands of bigots and churls,

stand aside and think of love,
or the idea of it, and its chance
at being the winner at this war,
Or even a random, shitty dance;

and you look at what gadgets spin –
dyslexia the new face of the game –
and kinda hope that, if love exists,
he will wake and remember your name;

but you get caught in your own bias
and cast aspersions for your right;
and, before you know it, you hate, too,
and become a part of the fire and fight.

So, on you go, eddying and gaming,
blasting the AIs, and earning loot,
and, before you know it, the love you sought
is now some sex that is moot.

Turn over and sleep.

For all the promises made,
And all declared vows to keep,
When need arises to prove –
Just turn over and sleep.

With all the blood that rushes
In to wounds that run so deep;
When hopeful chance comes to heal,
Just turn over and sleep.

As a heartache comes coursing,
Forcing one to lay and weep,
When gentlest words are needed –
Just turn over and sleep.

Maybe it is all karmic:
One sows in order to reap;
So, when harvest comes calling,
You must turn over and sleep.