The children of men

 Drifting off into the slumber of the years

I ask myself the number of my fears

And what keeps me tethered onto this earth

Besides the woman my mother who to me gave birth

The chilling facts

Recall the acts which monsters

Hide beneath their beds

And bring out to read about

The dominion of the children

And they take down the giants

They conquer what cannot be

The missing part of childhood

or latent homosexuality?

What offers up the reasons for the curse

Than the single seasons

Time must rehearse

And flog until its dead

The lifeless corpse of the horse

But what shall we make of reckoning

Each life affirming jerk

The freedom of the sperm is grounds

For marital divorce

That women are not free

We know of course

But what freedom have men, who are chained

Locked down from their emotions

Free to act, without come back

Yet attacked by religious institutions

Yet all responsibility rests with women

Whether for the men or the children

They awake, and push and pull the universe

Yet cannot tear its fabric

That is their curse

And men's curse is perhaps inverse

Without real power, in the house

In the hour

Their recourse is in destruction

Of course

And they burst and they flower

But to create is only our

Saving grace

In the seed of art

Or in the seed of sperm

But womens' creation is far greater

In opposition

They must harbour and hold

And nurture the creature

While men must demand to be heard

Through impotent rage

Or on the potent stage

They choose to tread

Because no woman hears their voice

Their mother instead

Or has their sister read

Their books or listened to their choice

As the daughters assassinate their fathers

And the sons blot out their mums

All this turns in the mill of life

And time like a steam roller

Rolls on

It only leaves the impression of the man 

And woman

Locked in a love pose

Flattened on the tarmac road of eternity

Like murder victims

Drawn in chalk outline

Burnt shadows

While over their bodies

Run the children

Who will themselves

Catch up with time in the end

Just

 I'm asking you for some news

From the foreign front

Give me the cues that I may use

To decide what I really want

I cannot tell, if this living hell

Is sound or fury or noise

But warning bells, begin their knell

Like psychological joys

When all is drifting down the river

And salmon are leaping free

And carp play harps, in musical

Tarps of mysterious melody

And trout make noise of gurgling boys

And fields of ripe corn

A million miles from where I am

And where I once was born

I run the gauntlet of this life

Up the torrid stream

And every footstep that falls

Is another vaunted dream

But if you call me Noah

Or if call me steam

I will flood you

With a rainbow

Of my vaulted beam

All the rocks are cold

All the trees are dripping

Sometimes the wild seems so bold

While I can feel less gripping

And the battle that must be fought

Is one against ourselves 

But whether it needs fighting

Is a decision made by elves

They are voices calling

Take it easy

Go to sleep

And I am willing to oblige them

As I crawl out of the deep