Shades Of Twain
Posted: July 15th, 2005, 9:12 pm
T’was lost in shades of Twain
fragrant cigars smoke after sarcastic refrain.
Called the colors as he saw them
loved the aristocracy less than his Nigger Jim.
Called congress a house of fools
charlatans confusing truth with silly rules.
And today the poets and writers must commit
to writing truth or writing shit.
Must see with open eyes the evil folly
revealed with truth spoken conscientiously
and never stop their pen from the bleed
of compassionate justice for all to see.
Never hold a conspiratorial grudge
against anyone after the ink is dry,
and swear the truth’s worse than a lie.
T’was lost in shades of Mark Twain
Mr. Clemens other side more vain
but words spoken all too plain
of lost faith in a God of sorrow
who takes all hope for happier tomorrows
smashing them against a broken will to live
when love was all one had to give.
Nothing fair and more clear
than the words on the page held dear
to one’s soul if written with conviction
and heated with sarcastic friction.
T’was lost in shades of Twain
reading aloud a wise refrain
from a man I admired.
Smell the smoke of a cigar just fired
thinking of the man born on the day of Haley’s comet
and when the last type was set
in the passing tail of the comet his end was met.
I wish to be as thee
and every word the truth
and when I pass leave the proof
I let my muse run free.
July 15, 2005 iblieve
fragrant cigars smoke after sarcastic refrain.
Called the colors as he saw them
loved the aristocracy less than his Nigger Jim.
Called congress a house of fools
charlatans confusing truth with silly rules.
And today the poets and writers must commit
to writing truth or writing shit.
Must see with open eyes the evil folly
revealed with truth spoken conscientiously
and never stop their pen from the bleed
of compassionate justice for all to see.
Never hold a conspiratorial grudge
against anyone after the ink is dry,
and swear the truth’s worse than a lie.
T’was lost in shades of Mark Twain
Mr. Clemens other side more vain
but words spoken all too plain
of lost faith in a God of sorrow
who takes all hope for happier tomorrows
smashing them against a broken will to live
when love was all one had to give.
Nothing fair and more clear
than the words on the page held dear
to one’s soul if written with conviction
and heated with sarcastic friction.
T’was lost in shades of Twain
reading aloud a wise refrain
from a man I admired.
Smell the smoke of a cigar just fired
thinking of the man born on the day of Haley’s comet
and when the last type was set
in the passing tail of the comet his end was met.
I wish to be as thee
and every word the truth
and when I pass leave the proof
I let my muse run free.
July 15, 2005 iblieve