Oh, let me pose a question to the day

Oh, let me pose a question to the day--
could you explain the meaning of my life?
as our friend good old Socrates would say.

My wisdom's far from black or white, but grey.
Is there an answer for this old midwife?
Oh, let me pose a question to the day,

and maybe, somehow, I will find a way
to understand a world with sadness rife,
as our friend good old Socrates would say.

I focus on the premises but stray,
get lost in life's complexities and strife,
Oh, let me pose a question to the day--

Oh, is there any order in this fray?
Must carve out definitions with a knife,
as our friend good old Socrates would say.

Yet all I've questioned now have run away.
Who else is there to question about life?
Oh, let me pose a question to the day,
as our friend good old Socrates would say.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

instead of freely living liberty

instead of freely living liberty
the legislation shows how to behave
with regulated actions think we're free

to do just as we're told we are so free
to regulated freedom we are slaves
instead of freely living liberty

we're told just what we can and cannot see
what words we are allowed or not to say
with regulated actions think we're free

they've molded what our liberty should be
and tell us it is wrong for more to crave
instead of freely living liberty

restrictions, where to worship Deity,
and where and when to never sit and pray
with regulated actions think we're free

our Constitution's hung upon a tree
decreed that Statist living must be saved
instead of freely living liberty
with regulated actions think we're free

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt

oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt--
the throbbing of the heart's unhealing burn--
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt?

I whine too much for one who's life's so curt,
when far worse lives are lessons to be learned,
oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt?

for others have not shoes to wear or shirt,
and neither have they roof or floor to yearn,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt,

remains the fabric of their pants and skirt,
yet on my satin sheets I toss and turn,
so, who am I that I may moan my hurt?

I've lost a brother, in this pain I churn
my heart, my cries for him are always spurned,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt

is what we are, become, in time so short,
with nothing more than hope of a return,
oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt?

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

we cover them so we may never see

we cover them so we may never see
the ugliness that grows along the way
from what they have become,our eyes do flee

the way they always were, to always be
requires that how they were will always stay
we cover them so we may never see

what happens to these personalities
who've left our homes, by force, to go away
from what they have become,our eyes do flee

so to preserve the silent memory
for preservation's sake, our only way--
we cover them so we may never see

so yesterday's most loved vitality
won't fade before the stench of what's today
from what they have become,our eyes do flee

for if, left uncovered, we let them be
would not the ugliness get in the way?
we cover them so we may never see
from what they have become,our eyes do flee

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos