Gong

 Gong 

 

The symbolism is all wrong 

Whilst the noise of activity goes on and on, 

And in the heavenlies, there’s a clanging gong 

Summons you, to a tuneless, loveless song 

And to it the misdirected masses flock and throng, 
 
To get a look at what’s going on 

This clashing cymbal  

This clanging gong 

 

How long, how long 

How long has this been going on, 
 

If I surrender all I have, to the flames 
If I do it all, in Jesus’ name 

But have not love, then to my shame, 

I’m reduced to dust, 
For the lust of Cain 

And pity me that I ever came, 

For the beginning and the end’s the same, 

Your bristles rose when the clatter came 

So sound the gong for the latter rain, 
 
 
And yes, we can all prophesy 

Interpret every groan and sigh, 

And dream as the whole world passes by 

But without love, we live a lie, 

And life is a death that we’re doomed to die, 

 

A death cry that we’re doomed to hear, 
The cracking sound of our dry veneer 
The hollow noise: your only Souvenir  

Of all you have achieved down here 
So, take it in, blow it out your rear, 
We’ll all be out upon our ear, 
On a ghost ship with no one to steer, 

Without the love  

We’ll drown in fear 

I speak in tongues 

But still you hear 
I said: 

Without love 

We drown in fear 

 

Without love a worthless all 

A blind stumbling down an endless hallway 

Extended hands to prevent a fall 

As you feel your ways down ceaseless wall 
Your voice is a husk from all your dry calls 

 

Your calls that have gone on so long 

Like a clashing cymbal 

A clanging gong 

The symbolism is all wrong 
 
You gain the world 

You beat the gong 

You gain the world,

You beat the gong

His Promises

His promises are flattering

Though his motives are unclear,

He's either blindly enthusiastic

Or wildly insincere,

Though it's cost him nothing,

His everything is here,

His promises are "yes, yes",

And "of course I will, my dear"

Beware the empty words,

Full with what you want to hear.'

Blind enthusiasm

Or wildly insincere

Half

 A mood is half a poem

In itself is a poem without words

And many a time I've luxuriated, lazily in that languid frame of mind

Leisurely loquacious, 

Lolloping lovingly over lines

Floating weeks above a keyboard 

But when falling fingers finally come down to land,

They find they are only able to forge

Half a poem

For they've found the words

and weighed them,

But the migrating mood has moved

Moved on from the mind

So I'm afraid this half 

Will have to do,

For you.

Like George McFly

 In one moment

His density

Was changed forever

Clenched fist in the parking lot

Mocking jeers surround his ears

And fate hangs in the balance

For one swing

He would be king

And his loser life

That never was

Never would be

Respect

Success

A happy family

Get your God-Damn hands off of her.


If it were me,

In that parking lot,

And I took the swing,

Took the shot,

What would change,

I guess not a lot,

I'd just go back, next day, to what I'd got,

Because experience tells me,

That although a few moments are pivotal,

The heroic anomalies do not define,

But the infinitely banal,

Decisions of mine, 

That consolidate every day,

Would cause me, the next day to say,

I guess I should get back to my future.