Man
 
The ways of man, the ways of me
 are not what I am, are not what I see,
but surely, they are, in the end, what I be.

A distance, small or great, from being free.

To soar upon glorious, feathered wings,
 high above all, with a sweet voice that sings
of all the right choices one’s life brings
that could take one beyond all that stings

the body, the heart, the spirit, the soul.
To  take us to that place, what a thing to know,
that we may feel free, may know a safe place to go.

Shadows frozen upon the walls of time,
along those mirrored halls, memories, they shine
upon all that life has become, this fate of mine.

Woman
Is woman ?, Venus, a distant planet
or a fisher of men, men to catch in her net ?
Is woman ?, the statue of ancient myths and legend,
or might she be other ?, alive, real, warm and a friend.
Her heart, to many, she has lent,
 will any one man be sufficient.