Even a Broken Clock

Even a broken, old fashioned clock

Is correct 2 times a day,

And perhaps if I stay as I am,

You'll come, in time,

To see things my way,

If time is the variable,

And not the nailed down, sealed in truth,

Then the fixed hands of opinion, 

Though opinions rotate,

Will point to the proof,

And if truth is the variable

Then what good is it to me,

If I require the eternal energy

To keep up, constantly,

No, The truth, this truth is my truth

And the time is on the shelve 

And what ever time it is, the truth is,

It's always 1 minute to twelve.

Thrown To Wolves

Bequeathed to me by the glare and crackle

Of the grey-black TV light 

And lurking lurid colours

Late in the lacking night,

The door cracked open,

I saw fear without fright,

I woke without waking

I could not see but somehow knew.

I saw without sight.

And I, by the sly of the older boy,

In the recreation ground,

Lost innocence of eye through a window

After church, at the back of the mound,

And no amount of gouging could pluck out

The loss that I'd found,

And so from man to boy to man,

We go around and around

I was thrown to the wolves

And wanting

I was shown to the water

And left to drown,

And all the flesh that followed me

And the hot seed of desire

Smouldered in the scorched earth

As it forged its false path of fire

And the trail I blazed

And left

And found and left and found

Is the path I trail with breadcrumbs

and led my children down

And threw them to the wolves

As I was thrown before,

When I woke up in the night

Looking through the crack in the door,

But the wolves are much hungrier now

They are ravenous and bold

They are predator and four dimensional

Not like the wolves of old

And the demons that they summon

Or the demons that summon them

Will not stop, will stop at nothing

And the wolves will come, and come, 

And then will come again.