I remember my Brooklyn.
Straight out of school, living in sin.
Y2K about to make us all look a fool.
Last Night, hit me over the head.
It told a story about being alive and dead.
Not knowing how people will carry on.
Some screwed like jack rabbits for fun.
Some partied and drank themselves into oblivion.
Some joined their families and prayed.
For deliverance from our evil ways.
It ended as it started.
And it tore out my heart.
More questions than answers.
A decade later I remember the story.
About humanity examining its last day of glory.
Do we need a deadline to learn to live as one?
No knowledge of when our time will come.
Or do we need a lightning bolt from the sun.
A beta test before production.
Life taken before it has truly begun.
A species not ready, for what could have been.
I am a truthful man
From where the palm tree grows
And before dying I want
To let out the verses of my soul
My verse is light green
And it is flaming red
My verse is a wounded stag
Who seeks refuge on the mountain
I grow a white rose
In July just as in January
For the honest friend
Who gives me his open hand
With the poor people of the earth
I want to cast my lot
The brook of the mountains
Gives me more pleasure than the sea