Lay titting tatting
tutting still turning
worn out waiting
for the hear,
but father remarked
on his death bed
for a distinct voice.

Remember the world
is corruption son,
Forget your newspaper
The changes that count
are happening already:
Unnoticed, unannounced

Careful with your fingers
not to deep them into
a write for heresy;
You know not who
is the read.
It may crook your paths
dim your light
twist your stomach
and pudge your name.

Look out son!
Listen to lingua Franca
Between gods and men:
Doubt truth to be lie,
never doubt our words;
On the dim and far-off
Shore of the future,
you will see the footprints
of hope and peace
at the tunnel.

┬ęSteve Anc
Lover of words
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