Nov
21
1992

Growing Up (One not-so-easy lesson)

by Stephen Messer

School was so easy, I was so sleazy,
And I always brought home the grades.
Come exams I was ready, my hands were so steady
I knew exactly what I knew.

I left school just another young fool
Ready to take on the world;
So from Brazil to the U.S. I’d sail —
I knew all I needed to know.

So here I was no longer in Oz,
Suddenly I was on my own.
For the first real time I had to stand in line
And work to stay alive.

But nove I’ve been out and I’ve learnt about
A lot of things in life.
about the stuff it’s made of, (and boy it’s paid off)
I’ve learnt how little I know.

posted in Introspection, Poems, Social | No Comments

Nov
19
1992

Abrogation

by Stephen Messer

destroy this abrogation
of ill-fated infatuation
as we die and laugh and die
and laugh and try
and try and try…

but infatuation just remains
keep being enthralled just the same
as we die and laugh and die
and laugh and cry
and cry and cry…

so distraught we can become
when we thought the crying’s done
as we die and laugh and die
and laugh and try
and try and try….

and when crying we feel hollow
then life’s not fit to follow
so we die and laugh and die
and laugh…
and…
die.

posted in Social, Songs | No Comments

Nov
16
1992

Unititled, Unfinished – November 16, 1992

by Stephen Messer

I had known this state once
before,
there were some
things that remained
unchanged,
other things never stayed the same,
just went round and round in a
ceaseless,
untiring moment.

Watching fog slip its fingers
round each tree, and strangle
the sight and visions we would see,

Watched fog of mind encumber us with
fog so unrefined,
We left it here.

I saw the things he said but they meant nothing now.

And so and so it goes, but there’s nothing
that I know
can keep me here in this untirng stance,

I must go on to dance and to take this world by chance,
I must go on and on and on and on and on.

posted in Poems | No Comments

Nov
12
1992

Here

by Stephen Messer

The city is a dying tomb
For all who emerge from the womb
And it leaves us all to defray
The real cost of living in so-called civilized way.

And we know all’s not well here,
We know we’ve created a hell here,
And we know all’s not well here,
We know we’ve created a hell here.

This is just a den of thieves
Whether or not in man you believe
And the gods of our lives run amok
While we worship and kill for and die for a buck.

And we know there is hate here,
We know we’ve created our fate here,
We know there’s so much hate here,
Can we sit and accept our fate here?

There’s a political gamble being made,
It’s our lives and well being at stake,
And this world has been put on the table,
There’s something to do if we’re concerned and we’re able!

So if nothing is said or is done,
And we end up with nowhere to run,
And leaders cannot be believed,
Then nothing is what will be heard or achieved.

And we know there’s little hope here,
We know we are killing ourselves here,
We know there’s little hope here,
Can we sit and bleed in our apathy here?

posted in Social, Songs | No Comments

Oct
13
1992

Untitled – October 13th, 1992

by Stephen Messer

We are burdened by the weight of circumstance
the wait of a world ticking timelessly away,
indifferent to the eternal circumstantial dance
in which we are immune to nothing,
and suffer.

And so be it, that when in some secluded moment
some fleeting, ticking, beating, snickering moment,
a world indifferent to our eternal circumstantial dance,
that barely notices our fleeting existence,
allows us so to suffer.

Suffer though we may, we do have our own triumphant times,
some fleeting, ticking, beating, but triumpant times,
wherein some undiscovered faculty beyond mere comprehension
takes us over and we care not for our eternal circumstantial dance,
and we forget we suffer.

posted in Introspection, Songs | No Comments

Oct
11
1992

Untitled-Unfinished, October 11, 1992

by Stephen Messer

I dream,
And stand unconscious;
I feel the people.
I feel the past,

And in it you are there,
You feel it too,

You dread,
You stand unconscious.

I know there is away to be here,
I feel you,
I feel the dream.

There is nothing here I cannot say.

We foster the hope
of another generation;
foster the dreams that
can take us there.

We foster the hope of
another age,
the dream of another day.

We furnish the means to
take us there;

posted in Poems | No Comments

Oct
11
1992

Caretakers

by Stephen Messer

In a nonsensical way I see this
planet
bear the scars of a love not
held at all;
a love for a planet not present in
the caretakers
we have made ourselves.

In a nonsensical way I have seen this
earth,
Lose dignity with all around,
lose the respect of its inhabitants,
Lose us all in some way.

posted in Nature, Poems, Social | No Comments

Oct
11
1992

Friend is dead

by Stephen Messer

I never thought this would be the way,
I never knew the end,
Never knew the politics
of losing another friend.

I never wanted to say goodbye,
and regret it was never said,
For now that freind is no more,
That friend is dead.

But the friend is dead,
he’s gone from here, but one thing still remains,
The friendship that we shared,
He never took to the grave.

posted in Poems, Songs | No Comments

Oct
09
1992

What the hell is going on here?

by Stephen Messer

What the hell is going on here,
When all the things I’ve come to know
Are falling down about me?
And all the stability I’ve ever known,
Falls apart around me?

And all the people I’ve ever faced,
Now must differently face me?
And all the lies I’ve been told,
Are now trying to erase me?

And all the things I’d taken for granted,
Are now disintegrating?
And all familiar ways of doing things,
Are being denigrated?

And all the consistent things in this life
Are going by the wayside?
And all the feelings, and the love that I bear,
Might as well have died?

posted in Introspection, Poems, Songs | No Comments

Oct
09
1992

Born into this

by Stephen Messer

There’s a moral decay that’s all around,
I’ve seen blood on the ground,
Blood of no martyr, just a no-one,
Some poor bastard unlucky enough
To be born into this

We’ve lost the sense of our own senses,
I’ve seen the guns and fences,
Guarding no martyrs, just nobodies,
Just poor bastards unlucky enough
To be born into this

Rampant disregard is all that rules,
I’ve seen the work of fools,
Powerless fools, nameless bodies,
Poor, poor bastards unlucky enough
To be born into this

Little hope at all there seems to be,
I’ve seen the apathy,
Afflicting all the luckless souls,
Poor, poor bastards unlucky enough
To be born into this

But a few there are who undaunted try,
I’ve seen them onward ply,
A little difference to maybe make
Poor, poor bastards just like me,
Who were born into this.

posted in Poems, Social, Songs | No Comments

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