All men fall
But some men
Deny it is so.
But could one go
Into the mind
Of all men
One would find
No angels here below.
I have seen Heaven and Hell
And I know well
That the path to both
Oft runs parallel.
All Men Fall
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Tag Archives: human nature
Tomorrow and Today
Time is a human concept
Not always shown due respect
By we who put off until tomorrow
That which we should do today.
Then, when tomorrow
Comes we say
“I shall do that on another day”,
While old Father Time
Smiles his enigmatic smile
And whispers, “you borrow
Tomorrow and today”.
And we, heeding not the clock
Continue to play
Our lives away.
The Cat and the Hound
A cat will play with a mouse and thrust,
Much to we humans disgust,
Nature red in tooth and claw
Into our face.
The hounds will chase
The fox, and it leaves me bereft
For it is we who take pleasure in the creature’s death.
It is a truth profound
That the cat and the hound
Can not be bad,
But sometimes I think,
That we humans are mad.
The Beast In Man
I shower
And make myself respectable for the day
But say
Who has the power
To take the beast in man away?
I find
That many are kind
And that I can be kind in return
For man does learn
That it is pleasanter that way,
But say
Who can take the beast in man away?
When I smile
There can be no denial
That people like me that way,
But say
Who can take the beast in man away?
The Utopians say
That there will come a day
When man will not be this way,
But say
Have they not
Also got
Feet of clay?
The Writer’s Pen
You accuse me of hiding in my ivory tower.
I answer that I have no power,
Other than my pen
Which when
It scratches
Sometimes catches
The truth of the matter,
Causing the fine porcelain
Of your ideals to shatter,
Revealing the stain
Called human nature.
For each man is a prater
And the writer’s pen
Can interpret the hearts of men.
His heart was soft
His heart
Was soft
In part.
But the devil coughed,
So he did what he did
And further downward slid.
The Crooked Tree
Whichever way the wind went
The crooked tree bent.
I spent
Much time gazing at that tree,
Which looked back at me
And seemed to say
“As sure as night follows day,
We shall bend together
With the prevailing weather”.
Shall I speak
Shall I speak of turtle doves
And innocent loves,
and a world where all are good
And do as they should?
Shall I talk of men upright
Who say “good night”,
And leave,
And never deceive?
Or shall I speak
Of the flesh that is weak
And men who seek
For the discreet door?
I know which you would prefer,
But a circle is not a square
And squire and maid
Are not always staid.
The Thing He Hates
The devil patiently waits
As the fool prates.
For Lucifer knows
History shows
That Man learns too late,
He has become the thing he hates.
Anything Accept
It is said that “every man has his price”.
We decry vice,
For the nice
Guy or gal
Shal
Not get caught
Doing what they ought
Not to do.
But who
Save the saint
In narratives quaint
Can with honesty say
There has never been a day
(An admission truly shocking),
When temptation came aknocking.
Some may not fall
Yet recall
The devil on their shoulder
Who whispered “you are getting older.
Only the fool
Adheres to the rule
That keeps him poor”.
That door
They may refuse to open,
Yet the devil’s words are spoken
And every word
is heard
By man and child.
Many, like Wilde,
Do persist
And resist
Anything accept temptation.
K Morris - Poet 