Will Barber

Come praise the stars, the wind, the rain
That course the earth; come praise the pain
And pleasure that the years bring forth:
Praise every particle of the Universe.
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A nameless one, who toiled alone,
And waited for the telephone
To ring, grew restless on a day
When winds blew all his dreams away
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There is a hill ahead,
And Death is behind the hill;
I urge the horses onward, onward....
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The raindrops pound upon the nerves
The winds howl stringently, and sing
A song to fill a winter night, a surge
Of rage against a bitter fate, a king
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So soon, the green wing faltered so soon
As the shadows grew short on the lawn -
It was more than the phase of the Moon,
More than the flight of the dawn -
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Come praise unnecessary wars, although
Videos and narratives must disprove
Theses of conspiracy theorists, who
Govern us from their pretended love
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You: you are like a ghost
Fluttering, pensive, in my memory,
Skirting the well-lighted rooms in which I read.
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I am old enough to remember
So many things, so many things:

The blackbirds singing in the morning,
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Tolerance is tyranny, postponed:
Indifference to one man, alone.

Tolerance is conditioned love,
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Ghosts roam the night, to seek the sleepers out
And feast upon their dreams. Ghosts search the night
For old memories, the sound and sight
Of passions they have lost in silent ground.
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The Promised Land is anywhere
Good men do not live in fear,
But a liar must take care
Lest the the neighbors idly stare
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The keys and staves demark strait paths
The restless note must travel on;
The note's the beast that carries
The burden of the sound.
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Why is it, do you know, that
Memories of you are silver,
And I stumble onward
Seeking your steep path?
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His last days, he remembered
Ouachita mountain haze
Where he sought his love
In former days:
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I was not taken by the claws of love,
Nor bound upon a bloody rock;
I heard no angels, saw no dove,
No eagle, nothing in that dark.
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On my second trip to Austin State
It was very, very late
I felt great relief, at last
When the police delivered me to my past.
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The universe is a vast river,
The rain is very cold;
There is no reason to persist:
This moment is forever.
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Dew on the desert: idle dreams
Are nourishment enough, in youth;
Years demand deep roots: a man
Will thirst, pursuing idle truths.
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All in the evenings, sweet Emily
Would walk by the water's edge, dreaming
Of a voice that might wake her forever
From such idle revery.
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If I could sing - my heart,
Then, never would be sung.
If I knew my heart,
It never would be shown.
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