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Burning Questions Lost

by Walter Jones (Age: 72)
copyright 08-17-2004

Age Rating: 10 +

Author's note: I am and I see
Just me and my wine bottle
Candle  bright
Want is need
Bible is a cover
Life a burning seed
No my child just read


Like the wind
Soft and sweet

He created man to honor him

I refuse to believe
Child believer sees

Foolish free will survives

Cry why sleep
Can it be me

Hell awaits your lack of servitude

In a darkened sea
Captain's view is empty

Flames lick at those angels that fell

Child measures time
Why whine so

We all must wait for the years (20,000)

Feeling is a lasting dream
Black Plague struck all down

Burned many from town to town sack and ash

Here do we walk
Slip into bottom deep

Price of failing to believe (salt)

Realm or bartered need
Lord of castle locks the gate

For some it is too late vermin has spread

Will a slip of fate
Call a digger spade

Cemetery receives the living dead

Where is it to be
Horse leaves at master's call

Condemned one and all as the shaft and grain both burn

Slip of here to mind
Will time obey and fall

Seven spread across the sky sowing seeds

Lucky to be here to say
Angels ride to tower tall

All of this I will give gone Satan

Fate real sadness keeps
Will you play the tune

Salvation numbered in the ledger of time

Died but tried and true
Kills the rat burns the flea

Sweet wine gives a way to extend my soul

Sip a real drink
dies to scream

Lamps burn without oil inside

Mark added to me
Parasite dies in fire of blood

Blood of wine turns body to bread

Will a tray hold
drinks around

Like a thief in the night he comes

What is the cause
lemmings off cliffs drown

Better to pluck out an eye than offend God

I left all for you
Lover now gone

One was right the other dead wrong

Forever now alone
But we lived the lie

Is it but a dream

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        08-25-2011     Frank Fields        

do't know what happened there. 3rd time now, trying to continue. Lost my track, forgive.
Good writing, Walt. ^^

Frank :)

        08-25-2011     Frank Fields        

This work can be read in so many different ways, have so many different meanings ascribed, that it just doesn't want to come together as a whole, for me. Except for the thought,

left curlique right curlique
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