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I was never morose or cynical
Anger was kept well inside
Others gleaned from my bones
While I silently died
Kindness mistaken for weakness
Misread signals from shallow minds
Neither looking to either side
Fixed eyes onto a point straight ahead
Shadows try to defy
Within my peripheral vision
They attempt to invade
Mocking the possibilities
Enslaving anyone in their path
This is why I have this inner wrath
My exterior is incidental to those who see
Ingredients of lust within their eyes
Superficial smiles looking for a quick fix
They take to me on flight of wings
Screeching to a halt as they swoop
Upon prey intensified upon
In the search of their desires
Beyond or below-friend or foe
Disgregard for the rising of the sun
Indifference to the surroundings
Brings no mind for concern
Each day is lived on the edge
Tainted survival is all that is known
And from it such weeds have grown
Becoming parasitic to every growth
A humans heart is not mourned
Rather it only signifies an ending
To be discarded and scorned
Moving on-trudging forward
There are still many more to overcome
Grinding bones into the dust
It is the way that they must
In the force that drives them
Marching forward
Into the abyss that has been created
By those with superficial smiles
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
Broken bonds into freedom
Flying into the abyss
Not knowing what is ahead
In the wake of a last kiss
As a child I come unto thee
With arms outstretched
Accepting all that is before me
Leaving the rest behind
Might I fall into those arms
Arms that catch me from the fall
Labouring under the assumption
Into safety that awaits
Dependability that cannot exist
In any other dimension
That which I leave behind
Shall not hinder what is ahead
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
Down in the swamps of Louisiana
Blackwater Hattie hides in the bog
Dabbling in magic with gators about
Concealed in the fog
Ice water runs through her veins
As I approach her she already knows
I bring her an offering of fresh tobacco
To mix with the herbs she grows
She gives me a look as she smokes her pipe
Out on the porch in her chair
She signals me to come forth
I look at her pure white hair
Quickly she looks me up and down
Her eyes look deeply into mine
Searching for the meaning of my visit
Looking for a tell tale sign
Nobody goes to Blackwater Hattie
Unless they have dire need
Some come to her for remedies
Others over personal greed
I jingle my coins and make my request
Explaining to her slowly and trying my best
I tell her of the love for my lady
I want a potion to bless our love
Blackwater Hattie lets out a laugh
It flushes out the flight of a dove
Of course she agrees and snatches my coins
Dissapearing into her shack
She quickly returns and hands me something
In what appears to be a small sack
Giving me instructions to wait til the moon
Is full in the sky at night
To open the sack and burn its contents
Giving me also words to recite
I thank her politely and begin to leave
But she asks me to stay for awhile
Wanting to know of the happenings in town
She cracks a gentle smile
Hattie reloads her pipe to the brim
With my offering of tobacco I had brought
Lighting it with a kitchen match
Then pausing as if in deep thought
She tells me a tale of a lovely maiden
Who once lived in the bog
She used to dance under the moonlight
Followed by her faithful dog
The town folk used to laugh at her
Many thought her to be insane
One day she dissapeared
Only tales of her would remain
Some say that the maiden was Hattie
She neither confirmed or denied
There was that twinkle in her eye as she talked
Something from down inside
She bid me goodbye until the next time
Slowly I began to depart
Never would I tell a soul in town
That Hattie had seen my true heart
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
Under the canopy formed
Along the path I walk each day
Entangled together in unison
Under skies of grey
Brief openings where I see the sky
The flight of birds under clouds
Covering me from the glaring sun
Friends who entangle me within them
Like gentle shrouds
Every one has different form
Each has its own name
Many times they have inspired
Words which I proclaim
Debts owed unto them
In my many times of strife
When I have sat beneath them
In perspective of my life
There are no words spoken
Amongst these giants who defy time
Still I feel they speak to me
Their grandeur so sublime
Each leaf that falls upon the ground
Reminders to me
They are the children of the trees
Who make their silent plea
Another generation comes and goes
Seeds that have been sown
Another season comes and goes
Grateful in my heart to them
And all that they condone
I am the living voice of the trees;
That float along the breeze
Into the ears of all men
Who walk upon this earth
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
Mingled trees upon the earth
Ebbing within is life
They speak in many ways
If you have the time to listen
Upon their ancient trunks rest
Visons from their time
Quitely they lull and observe
Taking in the vibrations
Each moment that goes by
Within is the creation of the seed
That brings forth new life
In their most giving deed
It is the small sprout in likeness
The newborn child that comes from its roots
Trees cast down lovingly
Not only upon their own kind
To all that is in life and nature as well
Fallen trees are unsung heroes
Cast upon the ground
Their children mourn aloud
Yet no once hears in the frenzy of the crowd
Softly speaking are the voices
A great thing has happened upon this day
Wisdom has been passed on
Their children shall grow and continue on
Recalling into memory the fallen ones
Dedicating their existence to them
In wonder as to why man does not do the same
Where words are spoken
Actions are not taken
The meaning of the words falls in weakness
Strong branches of trees cannot hold them up
Boughs thrive for their own sake
Fleeing leaves in flower escape upon the winds
To places where no harm can come to them
Safe from words that are spoken that have no worth
They are upon those winds to secret places
To dwell within the earth
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
I wait for my son to return from the front
At the gates of the railroad station
He is carried on the rails of my hope
The center of my own salvation
Why men clash on open earth
Behind it are the powers that may be
From the same waters that I've earned my keep
Unquestioning is the sea
Sleeping under the stars is no sacrifice
Too see the eyes of my son
Might I ease the pain of his wounds
Until the mending is done
The house he was born in waits for him
The bed in his room shall
Once again cradle my boy
The eyes of his mother filled with tears
But they shall be tears of joy
Sweet wine shall be upon our lips
Laughter shall fill the air
Soon this will be a forgotten thing
In answer to my inner most prayer
Hope for peace is never lost
Or in the things I adore
Soon my son will be with me
Then my heart will soar
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
Looking back retrospectively
Sitting on these rails
Retired in serious outdated attire
Many things have been heard
From voices upon my seats
~
One man sits by himself in the corner
His shoes tell the story of his life
A weathered face of deep lines
Caused by the presence of strife
The beggars who cross my floors
Many times in one day
Some do it to support their habit
Others have no other way
Blank stares into open spaces
In the hustle and bustle of the city
Impatient feet await
In a place where there is no pity
Grinding of my wheels
Shrill high pitches
Each curve emits sparks
Along the way
Strangers refusing to acknowledge eachother
Minds that have gone astray
Grinding of the mind
Shrill high pitches
Each curve brings with it sparks
Passing by cemeteries
Children playing in parks
Sirens abound to break the silence of sound
Howling dogs pierce the air
In rebellion they object to the invasion
Of the space within their lair
Vacillation within the vicissitude
The vortex created is paralytic
Woes go up quickly dissipating
Effectuality in the erosion acidic
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
Cactus stand together in silence
Windswept landscape of desert terrain
The plight of the tumbleweed across the plains
Roadrunners in the early dawn
Covering ground where Buffalo once grazed
Under the guise of smoke signals sent from mountaintops
That wafted amidst the earthen clay
Western skies abound
To the silence within the sound
Amongst the souls that stir
Upon those mesas
Where once lived the Red Man
Of many tribes they were
In those places entrusted
Signs carved upon wanton rock
Under the blazing unforgiving sun
Peace within the presence of ancient stone
Reptilian inhabitants who live in harmony
This starved place of beauty
Where antelope once thrived
The cactus fondly remember
Fragrant floral odors adrift
As they observe the tumbleweed
In its journey to places over the horizon
Knowing that all things must return
From whence they came
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
When I close my eyes
The grey Leporidae
Floats in the clouds
Under the moon
Wherever I go it follows me
To the hill where my white horse roams
Cool water taken from silent wells
My horse quenches his thirst
He too notices the Leporidae
Floating in the sky above
It has followed him at times
Over the mounds trailed by hounds
Who attempt to persue
That evasive hare who remains at large
Out of the reach of the relentless ones
For he only shadows those he wishes
Entering into their dreams
When he wants to be found
By the side of the brook
His heartbeat can be heard
In the bullrushes and willows
Moonbeams gleam off the water in the brook
His reflection along with the moon
He floats gently back into the clouds
Following,always following
Like my shadow he follows
He is blanketed under the stars
Choosing when he wants to appear
As he fades into the sky
My white horse returns to his place
Where cool waters are taken from wells
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
When I was a boy of only eight
Not knowing the meaning
Of the word 'segregate'
My father decided to take me with him
On a plane where he promised
A 3-D movie and a fishing voyage on a boat
Little did I think of lessons to be learned
In the unfolding of this anecdote
I tag this memory to the newspaper headlines
The day that Clark Gable died
My father explained this man was
Until I was satisfied
There was a lay over in the city of Atlanta
I watched the planes go by in the air
Listening to announcements
Watching people go by quickly
As a boy I became slowly aware
When asking my father if I could go to the bathroom
He instructed me to return
Little did I know what would be ahead
Or of what I was about to learn
As I approached the door I was stopped
By an old grey haired black man coming out
He discouraged my entrance through that door
Then I began to question why with a pout
My father seeing the situation
Quickly came to my side
Questioning the man about the problem
With tears in his eyes he replied
He doesn't know the difference
Pointing to the sign on the door
It read "Colored Men" with letters wide
My father directed me to the other place
Where I was supposed to be
After returning to his side
I could clearly see
My father was trying to console the man
Assuring him that someday he would be free
~
This man wore a white shirt with suspenders
I wish I had learned his name
I remember looking up at him in his pain
Tears in his eyes in his withered tired frame
My father parted with sadness
The man continued to cry
My father explained about dignity
As I watched the planes in the sky
Reminding me to remember the color of his skin
Made no difference-he was just a man
That he still had a heart within
We continued our trip to Miami
But I thought of the man and his tears
I still think of him to this very day
After almost fifty years
~
We went on the boat
I got seasick
We went to the 3-D movie
I caught a cold
From the newfangled air conditioning
That had just been invented
The 3-D glasses gave me a headache
We left the movie before it had finished
I left Miami totally dissapointed
Then after many years I realized
The purpose of the trip to Miami
Was that image burned into my mind
Of the man in Atlanta who was crying
Thereby I was able to find
The true course of my heart
I will never forget the lesson taught
Human dignity belongs to everyone
It is something that needs not to be bought
From the lowest creature
To the tallest human
In those famous words
Let freedom ring
It is the melody I learned as a boy
Of eight years old
The song I continue to sing
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
