“god is mean”

just feel the earth and feel the trick
the ground is rough and roses scorn
i knew the rose was red with thorns
but i only thought of roses,
not thorns and bloody pricks
the books were paper made and told
of streams in mountains, beautiful
so i lived to walk near valley river
i found it was cold, and poses
a harm just like the quivering red of roses
i feel the world has made me mean
i did not want to be this way
and god made me, and all i’ve seen
he was perfect and made me mean
you’d think that easy would define this all
and eden is not just a story dead
but more beautiful than roses red
oh how i wish that god weren’t mean
oh how i wish that it were true
i would believe, i would love him much
but i have seen hate,
and proven through
it’s not so easy, in a book
it’s not so easy, why is it not?
it’s not so easy, even this book
is made from dying tree which seen
the awful madness of god’s perfect mean

“mason learning”

behind the evening embers
we’re all embittered, at a cost
the harmony, soliloquy
is frozen by the frost
entitle one to hold the thrown
and grasp with dying breath
the ice to feel, the knee to kneel
cold cold hearts to cause an early death

every child who walks upon the earth we know has thoughts
“what do i do upon the leaves?” young mason learning cries
“i see the reason, but i may tell, the feeling that this brought”
“oh won’t one tell me, what they feel” upon the leaves he lies
“its just a time, am young not dying, but in this time i am caught”

he had a thought, just yesterday, and asked himself to reason
who he does have to lie in leaves, in autumn amber season
this time around, along the ground, foli-age is bright and blue
but year before, we knew no more, yet maple pages true
had come on when, the sun again, shown how it’ll always do

“so what am i” learning mason cries, “am i but a page?”
“to come and fall, just like them all, and wither with my age?”
“but they go fast, they melt away, and still i am here to stay”
“or so it seems, that’s all it seems, until my winter day.”