BFE

No graves in Egypt.
No place to lie.
An abominable
backwoods
place to die.

Here ye slumber
far from home.
Rouse ye peoples!
Rise ye bones!

Where shall we go?
Over there!
To a land of plenty.
To a land so fair!

Where the milk and honey
flows like rivers.
No lash.
No scourge.
No need to quiver.

In Egypt:
daily tyranny.
Promised:
perfect liberty.

Rouse ye peoples!
Cast down your yoke!
Escape 'fore light of day
approach!

Let's hide our Exodus
by the night.
Overseers,
escape their sight.

Where we go,
they may not follow.
Why stay here
in odious wallow?

Have you no dreams
of lofty things?
Of lands of plenty
and dine like kings?

Or are you content
with scrounging scraps?
And toiling to keep
the pharaoh fat?

But slavery
is all we've known.
How can you ask us
to leave our home?

Familiar it may be.
Home it's not.
Home not given
it must be-sought.
The devil accustomed,
whilst angel, naught.
Such weak excuses
to stay and rot!

You fear the desert
that you may die.
You say that as if
you're even alive!

Daily toiling
for others' gain.
The children watch you,
and do the same.

This not life,
but a death too slow.
Rouse ye peoples!
Rise!  Let's go!

Toiling in Egypt,
what have you earned?
Is master's head pat
what you yearn?

Walking on eggshells,
avoiding strife.
You're thankful it's whip
and not the knife.
They take your daughters
for night, not wife.
Is that your precious?
Is that your life?

You bleed and toil
and can't say why.
Tails wagging
for some worthless prize.
Cowering from death
without being alive.
Some withering windbags,
waiting to die!

Content with bondage.
Content as slaves.
The years did pass;
my beard has grayed.
And in all the wisdom
that comes with age:
I've never met
more foolish knaves!

The Promised Land,
not all can reach.
But better die striving
than to never seek!

Rouse ye peoples!
Rise ye knaves!
Throw down your yokes,
And be not slaves!

Our masters do flail us
with scourge and stick.
Dear Moses, your tongue
cuts deeper than this!

Fools we may be.
Worse than knaves.
Lack courage
to be naught but slaves!

The stick, familiar.
The scourge, we know.
But the desert is foreign.
How can we go?

As soon as we step out,
pharaoh gives chase.
Then sword,
not milk and honey taste.

We have no camel.
We have no horse.
Their army overruns us
as matter of course.

The desert sands
will be stained red.
Then what's the reason
that we have bled?

Friend Moses--dear Moses:
the hour is late.
Please leave us to slumber,
and do not wake.

In the morning,
let's do as we've done before.
And leave us to
our daily chore.

Rouse ye peoples!
Descendents of kings.
If lack courage:
behold what Father brings!

This staff looks ordinary
But it's something Divine.
If words won't quicken,
behold these signs:

Seas doth parted.
Lands uncharted.
Sobbing... sobbing...
For dear departed.
Hearts not guarded.
Manna imparted.
My peoples this journey
has only started.

Rouse!

Now you're inspired.
Later you'll wane.
Then turn your ire
in wrathful refrain.

You'll accuse me then.
I won't reply.
For in Egypt,
I found no place to lie.

------------------------------

This is actually a prequel to No Graves in Egypt.  Hope it moved you.  Any thoughts or critiques are welcome.

Goods

From mountain high
to valley deep.
Have you any
I may keep?

Here I wander
far from home.
Have you any
I may own?

Fickle lover,
you come and go.
You warm me up,
then leave me cold.

I used to seek
your warm embrace.
Such teasing wearied
from the chase.

The effort expended:
unreturned.
Bones exhausted.
Lungs thus burned.

And what is it
that I may show?
To take along
when I must go?

I'm told: acquire
mansions high.
What coin may purchase
a piece of sky?

I'm told: so purchase
things of dust.
But their very makeup
I do not trust.

Cars and spouses.
Houses!
Houses!
Nimble fingers
to undo the
blouses.

Crying!  Crying!
Hefty sighing.
"Comfort!  Comfort!"
I'm trying...
trying...

From flower to flower.
Leave... return.
Another lover
has left me spurned.

And the dirt, I'm forced,
to give it back.
So what's the point
in chasing that?

The taste of honey,
it is not sweet.
Have you any
I may keep?

Renters here
in borrowed homes.
On borrowed time,
and borrowed bones.

And things on loan
we must give back.
So what's the point
in chasing that?

But there's goods
that money cannot buy.
And to have it
needn't ever sigh.

Something that
can be thus owned.
Not rented like
these stinky bones.

But as coin
must toil to acquire.
Knees thus buckled
and steeled by fire.

No graves in Egypt.
No place to lie.
This is the desert
where I die.

You leave me dumb
and deaf and blind.
So Mammon,
get thee thus behind.

And when I die:
it must be so.
The goods I own
when I must go.

Scrawl

There's some issue inside these walls.
Some problems go unresolved.
Mystery is such.
I can't say what.
Eluded this heedless scrawl.

Blameless

Our hands are clean and free from stain.
We're not like them, who cause such pain.
We're chaste and pure and free of blame.
Ask again, and I'll tell the same.

On my boat

Everyting's going smoothly on my boat.
No gaps, no cracks, no lapse on my boat.
No leaks, no creaks, no breach on my boat.
No wolves 'cause there's only sheep on my boat.

Still, I sense something amiss on my boat.
Some cheat, some sneak, some thief on my boat.
Some vice, not nice, some ice on my boat.
No sleep 'cause there's some kinda creep on my boat.

Won't tolerate these mutinous dogs on my boat.
Some din, some sin, within on my boat.
Some knife, some scythe, some vice on my boat.
Lost nerve when captain stares ice on my boat.

So everything's running smoothly on my boat.
No gaps, no cracks, no lapse on my boat.
No scurvy, no worry, don't hurry on my boat.
Upright, insight, tonight on my boat.

That's why everything's light so bright on my boat.
No scorn, newborn, it's warm on my boat.
Some vice turned nice, upright on my boat.
Thus ravenous wolves bleat "baa" on my boat.

Sojourn

On sojourn now
from here to there.
Dream of arrival--
I do not dare.

That destination
is far remote.
And for one like me,
to dare approach...

Unthinkable.
Laughable.
A fantasy.
A direction
so so far from me.

Can a flea mount Everest?
Can a rock make wine?
So how can the base
traverse sublime?

But on sojourn still,
and wonder why?
Vain to embark
and not arrive.

If such the case,
then why leave home?
Why take the trouble?
Why even roam?

Some people travel
to see the sights.
I do not sojourn
because I like.

I sojourn simply
because I must.
And envy those
content to rust.

If I could do it,
I'd do the same.
It's only because
I'd go insane...

So on sojourn,
keeping somewhat keen.
And walking,
at least, it keeps me lean.

"Where are you going?"
Over there.
"Can you even arrive?"
I do not dare.

That direction
is so so far from me.
To reach it
perfect fantasy.

Some make effort
to reach the prize.
I make effort
to keep alive.

But it's not
impending death I fear.
It's resigning to reside--
remaining here.

An empty hell

I have one question,
now answer well:
Will you be my queen
in hell?

Just you and I
against the world.
Scratch that, plus two:
a boy and girl!

Our mountain palace
above the flames.
Just past earshot
shrieks of pain.

We'd soundproof walls
so we do not hear.
Hold dinner parties:
good laugh and cheer.

Affluent neighbors.
Of course of course!
And vacation in some
fine resorts.

Don't read the news.
That isn't true.
We left that when
we said adieu.
To that gory lifestyle
the suff'ring pain.
Blackjack, the casino
of Death, his game.

We left that casino,
we struck it rich.
And ran for the hills
above all it.

To enjoy our comfortable
mountain perch.
Live and enjoy
for all that's worth.

I watch my parents,
the king and queen.
And happily ever after
is make believe.

It's not that they
did not teach me well.
They paved the way to
success in hell.

But this base address
I can't abide.
I cannot stand it.
I won't reside.

Others more gritty,
and jaded much:
"To live in hell,
you must be tough!"

No doubt. No doubt.
I do agree.
We need to be tough,
but I'd rather be free.

But perhaps I'm just
more greedy than most.
Some infants take comfort
at mom's approach.
Still others by jingling,
shiny prize.
Not me, kept wailing.
I cry and cry.

I don't like this place,
I want to go home.
An inheritance of transient
flesh and bones.
Those brokers
peddle mountain homes.
And to win one,
gamble all you own.

I have one question:
now answer well:
Are we meant to resign
to reside in hell?

I had a queen picked out,
she'd prob'ly tell me yes.
And the mountain perch
which to contest.

The dream was there
within my reach.
I did not grab it:
it's make believe.

So what about a palace
above the din?
I'd rather exit
and not return again.

Don't try to placate me
with some corny prize.
I beg for exit,
I cry and cry!

But an exit is
what they do not know.
And wand'ring from place
to place I go.

Why gamble on
a mountain perch?
The exit
was my primary search.

But the exit was shut
by lock and key.
And good fortune
pointed it out to me.

Others just wail on
through the night.
Unable to change or
resolve their plight.
The hopeful gamble
all they own.
Hoping to win
a mountain home.

Myself,
perhaps,
more foolish than most.
Uncomforted by mom's approach
Unsatisfied by jingling prize
On and on I used to cry.

I have one question
now answer well:
I have a secret,
today I tell.
From the moment from
the grace we fell:

Would you love to see,
an empty hell?