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Hey buddy-what you doin'
You weren't here last time I came outside
Where'd you get that cool lookin' smile
Why you lookin' at me with those eyes so wide
You look pretty cool there with your arms out
You wanna play with me today
How come you don't move at all
You aint got nothin' to say
Last year there was someone just like you
Then one day he was gone
It got warm and the sun came out
He ran away after tinkling on the lawn
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
This is the path that leads to home
I know the way wherever I roam
It is a clear picture in my mind
Up this path is how I will find
Everything just as it was
Trees giving forth their fruit
Flowers blooming-birds in song booming
Insects being trailed in hot pursuit
Though crickets may chirp in the darkness
Fresh cut winter wheat is still in the fields
There is the smell of rich fertile soil
Giving up what is sowed when it yields
Each summer seems to go by swiftly
There seems yet not enough time in the breeze
Watching seasons with a slanted view
In varying amounts of degrees
The cleared fields reveal fawn and doe
Trampling the stalks of corn
Soon will come the blanket of snow
All in crystals sparkling of that which is borne
In the pristine whiteness that covers the soil
In anticipation of the spring to come
I will soon travel the path to my home
For that is the total sum
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
I am an island out in the fog
Surrounded by the forces of water
Woodsmen came to the forest once
Their minds commited to slaughter
Great oaks fell as did many pines
Some I had known a century or more
Foliage was trampled-frogs made their escape
In the peace I have come to adore
I was not part of the mass destruction
That once took place on the lands
That deafening sound of fallen trees
Caused by unrelenting hands
The dead silence that followed was
An unbearable noise in the silent
Dust filled the air without n'er a prayer
No tear was shed in the act so violent
The roots remain of the skeleton trees
Who still speak in low voices at times
They no longer cry or ask why
Or even question the crimes
Of the so many there are so few
Who can hear the trees when they cry
I am the island out in the fog
Who will silently testify
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
I hang my head as fires burn;
Around me in flickering flame;
And my desire within the fire;
To escape from earthly shame;
As though a lamb which softly bleats;
I hear the voices call;
Those who raise their hands in silence;
Beyond the giant wall;
Of which their hearts and minds are many;
That linger by the sea;
As though a star that sits afar;
That reflects a part of me;
A withered tree which had no care;
That once bore fruit for men;
Of withered hearts which had no voice;
That tremble on the posts of fences;
Like that of silent winds;
~ Moses ~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved (Graphic Declaration included (P)
The tree lady sings with her arms stretched wide;
Deep are the roots to her soulful eyes;
She is the culmination of all that is pure;
Her giving branches into all that applies;
I wish I had a mother like that;
Who could look down on me with pride;
Alas I have no mother like that;
Who can sing to me by her side;
All I can do is look up and see;
Her face within the tree;
She could hold me steady like her baby;
And this I could forsee;
Her words would be found in the whistling winds;
Her song weaving through the branches;
Falling leaves that flutter to the ground;
In a steadiness like avalanches;
Upon my face with no disgrace;
They are like kisses upon my cheek;
The tree lady dear takes away my fear;
Oh how I wish she could speak;
A branch caresses my shoulder;
It seems as if to say;
You know your place,now you must go;
To find your own pathway;
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
They call me Doc wherever I go
Countless towns I have been
Wandering now for twenty years
The world is my home-I have no kin
Once upon a time I was a surgeon
I thought I was God with a scalpel in my hand
With the power to save people from the grave
The very spark of life in my command
But I had not the power when the day was done
To save the life of my only son
Out in the corridor his mother moaned
Inside that room I silently groaned
That night I died a thousand deaths
And lost track of how many breaths
Work and toil to make him live
God was not able to give
And I lost my soul that very night
No longer wanting to engage in the fight
Days turned into weeks
But my hand was not steady
My wife in resentment
For I could not save Teddy
The wounds were many-the injuries massive
Severe damage had been done to his brain
Driving his truck with a bottle of whiskey
He met head on with a moving train
The house is still there where I once had lived
The windows now are silent and dark
Part of the porch is caved in with dryrot
I no longer care to hear the song of the lark
I wander the tracks from town to town
Inside the tears still flow
I don't talk to God anymore
I am in the silent winds that blow
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
I exacerbate in my dim lit quarters
Upon the walls are chalk notations
Time is spent upon my bed
Thought comes in rotations
I throw notes over my head
That come to me in lucid dreams
Prancing images fuzzy about the edges
Under the guise of different themes
The few photos upon the wall
Serve as inspiration
Whether in white light or black night
Thoughts adjust to adaptation
Written words upon the walls
Jots that represent a part of the tale
As I sit by the window and ponder life
That which lies beyond the veil
Unannounced at different times
The veil is lifted temporarily
Visions are shown at random
In sights of extraordinarily
Of no sacrifice which can be too great
The words come in their own good time
With solitude comes great contemplation
In Cause and effect to reach as I climb
The silence of the little room
Allows me great latitiude
To express myself beyond my own limits
With an open minded adittude
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
In heaviness of surreal contemplation
We are molded as if clay
Amongst the ruins of imagined wastelands
Side by side our eyes are closed
We are the chosen prey
Frontal lobes may meet unawares
Flocking to a central rendevous
Under muddy colored clouds
In shimmering shrouds
Enthralled in some form of cubism
Nothing is done that could construe
All are still chained to this dimension
In the constant flurry of changing atoms
It is at the nucleus of the problem
Random thoughts that float in suspension
Upon the stagnant air stream
However close we are able to be
Denial is in vain to the microscopic grain
Fleeting thoughts and images
Are strategically placed upon canvas
In an attempt to capture our inner wills
Rapidly built monuments pacify us
Like elusive electrons that invade the brain
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
The wizard of fates produces an energy
Sending it out over the land
He mixes stones with broken bones
Holding their fate within his own hand
A true master never asks for his own needs
But the needs of others
His work does not come back in void
He evades the toil that ultimately smothers
Understanding what he must do
Standing in wait for the morning dew
Words of wisdom spoken in care
Speaking softly in solemn prayer
He asks for little in return
Evoking the attention of the powers
True power is when it is not used
And attention is given to the flowers
Healing potions to cure all kinds
To bring peace unto restless minds
He is the wizard of fates
All other work disintegrates
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
