The Spoonbill Generator

Although My Testament Lies Steaming

The price of penance is the soul,

The payment which will make the punished whole.

The cost of kindness is the law

That gentlefolk abhor

The thought of darkness is the night

Where stars or dreams become a blight,

Where blossoms wither on the bough

That bears the broken vow

The price of honesty is pain,

The payment which we make in hope of gain

The value of the lies we tell

The lustre of our shell

...and should illustrious shell be broken,

Shattered by the litany we have spoken

Let it not cause strife in vain,

As affirmations wane

For still the price of living,

sinning, dying, grieving, loving, giving

sinning, dying, grieving, loving

Tis' the price to be alive

... and should the unseen veil be spotted

should the teeming blood of sense be clotted

None betrays the calmest voice

Nor makes the final choice

For in the end the agents,

implode upon themselves with too much introspection

Trying to avoid detection,

Waiting for the next election.

Contributors: Stacy, Nancee, P, Roland, Stacy Alexander, TG, Lucretia.
Poem finished: 30th January 1997.