I saw my level path turn steep and dark

I saw a tunnel black without a light

I hesitated wondering how to stop.

But seemed intent on death or sudden flight.

No human being held out a warm hand

They left me all alone in anguished pain Yet how should I in that state right decide

What was best for me, what made a claim?

The golden warmth like clouds from rising sun

Wrapped me all around till we were one.

There was no speech ,no person and no blame

No demand, no order, love remained.

Beyond despair I found this unknown care.

A sheet of tears ran down my poor face bare.

Each of us  likes  our  own quiddity;

As it makes us unique,don’t you know?

And if we are felled by liquidity

We must be sure not to  get drink   up the snow.

 

Our fingerprints, our eyes and our shadows

Are not shared with anyone else.

So as we lie in the butter-cupped meadow

We must ensure we will never be  false.

 

Quiddity’s a word that the toffs use

Anglo-Saxon  is   thought  non de trop.

O Temper O Celtic  O Flores.

Norman said he told me so.

 

Per ardua ad astra  perggun tree

Eton men all speak in Greek.

So tell them to eff  of if  flumshee

The English sure know how to speak.

 

 

At dinner with  folk from the Gunnament

Be sure to say ,eclectic’s inchoate.

But when you’re at home with your fundament..

Do keep your self esteem well afloat.

 

Why  is the tongue of the Bible

Not something the rich like to speak?

Maybe the eye of   that needle

Has made them more fluent in Greek.

 

Even the poor can have chutzpa

As they fry up a bagel in  lard.

Oy vey, the Messiah is out there.

So give away on your  new debit card.

 

 

Good Lord,God must speak Aramaic

Or Hebrew  and/or HTML

For the commandments may be  somewhat archaic;

But their translation  has given us  all hell.

 

On the shelf I found a prize I won

I came out first in an old school exam

They rewarded me with this book I revered

Catholic prayers, a manual of fear.

Its pages edged in gold, it’s very swish.

Maybe I should stand this in a dish.

I would put it on the table when I ate

And read a prayer to keep me out of date

I look inside and see the latin verse.

It moves my heart remembering, rehearsed.

I liked the latin ritual and the hymns

But not the constant emphasis on sin

I thought it was my fault that daddy died.

The weight of all the world was multiplied

I think I’ll put the prayer book in a drawer

I don’t want to see it anymore

Latin is no longer used in church

Once  it was the way we kept in touch.

Now everything’s in turmoil nothing lasts.

I wish the past would stay right in the past.