So Many

So many live on the wind and on the water, 

Festering and still, 

Drifting unto oblivion where ambition sleepwalks. 

So empty of joy, 

So avaricious to be filled, 

Even pain delights, 

Even what spurns takes, 

And vulgarity is sweet.

Gasping, 

Grasping even for weeds, 

Just to remain lying on the earth.

In street windows smiling ghosts are dancing and marching, 

Fading in and out of day, 

Desperate for night and the masked carnival of drunken sleep.

Their rainbow skins, 

All purple and green, 

Rattle on bone like golden chains on a beggar.

Machinelike thunder turning on a cog 

Moves the strings of marionette men 

On a conveyor belt of shops and sound 

To cinematic living.

Their wild eyes cry in the tumult: 

"Hold me, if thou be clean, 

Love me, if thou be free!"

Who knew life had undone so many, 

Even Death?

But then,

Turning away,  

I sit here side-legged like a Bodhisattva, 

My arms draped in the rough colour of nature. 

Here,

Warmed by ancient songs, 

And unmoved by cold, 

I go in from the desolate night, 

Away into the reaches of solitary wings, 

And dream of another reality.