The King Laments (part one)
Shadows-of-meaning, illusion, everything fades.
Nothing but shadows-of-meaning, fading.
It's all shadows of meaning.
What is there to show for a lifetime?
Of effort, struggle, work, and dreams?
Working till your half dead, stressed out,
To the point of bad health, or death, or what?
Shadows-of-meaning. Fading.
Generations work and built empires
Poor and rich
Generations die paupers and kings.
Generations working and building empires.
Working towards the grave
And at the helm of the ship, generations will die.
Shadows of meaning. Fading.
Youth takes over.
Some day youth becomes old and will die.
Shadows of meaning. Fading.
My children at the reigns?
Until their death. Or who?
The reigns of what?
Nothing changes.
(Hang on it gets better.)
Oh, yes, shadows of meaning.
The world spins and the earth quakes,
The storms come and go.
The sun rises and the sun falls and
Indeed, The sun sees all,
From his lofty old place,
That lofty old sun,
Yet . . . men's dreams of conquest fall
Governments put in to play great plans
For mankind and personal gain.
New governments are also gone
Soon into shadows of meaning,
Yes, shadows-of-meaning fading.
Nothing new, nothing, nothing, nothing,
Everything's been tried, and still someone says . . .
Look at this new thing! Yet that too will fade.
All the waters rush to join the sea,
The winds rush to their destiny.
The sea sucks up the water and spits it to the sky,
With the winds help, comes round full circle,
Rains fall, and water rushes in rivers to the sea.
Work, work, work,
Is the eye, never satisfied with the view?
Is the ear never satisfied with the sounds?
Nothing new, nothing, nothing, nothing,
Everything's still been tried, and some new man says . . .
Look at this new thing! Yet that too will fade.
Shadows of meaning.
All the great things and small,
That happened years ago,
All the great people and humble,
That lived years ago,
None are remembered now.
Even those born tomorrow,
Both ideas, and people of greatness.
All the meaningful things.
Will be shadows of meaning.
Nothing remembered.
The "teacher", let's face it, King of all,
He was a learner, a good thing.
He was a wise man, a good thing.
He was a man who tried to figure out
The mysteries and happenings
Of this world under heaven.
He saw much.
And all of it,
Shadows of meaning, illusion.
Like trying to catch the wind,
Finding meaning in this life.
Futile attempts were made,
To sort it all out.
But, if it was twisted, it stayed twisted,
If it was only a dream,
It could never be counted on at all.
He said to himself (the king),
I have gotten wise and sure,
More than any King before me,
My experiences are vast,
Especially in wisdom and knowledge,
Yet also in madness, and even just outright fun craziness,
Trying to find meaning,
I learned that I would sooner catch the wind,
Than figure out even the simplest thing.
Wisdom brought me down, I crashed and burned.
Knowledge brought me trouble, and further down.
Nothing but shadows-of-meaning, fading.
It's all shadows of meaning.
What is there to show for a lifetime?
Of effort, struggle, work, and dreams?
Working till your half dead, stressed out,
To the point of bad health, or death, or what?
Shadows-of-meaning. Fading.
Generations work and built empires
Poor and rich
Generations die paupers and kings.
Generations working and building empires.
Working towards the grave
And at the helm of the ship, generations will die.
Shadows of meaning. Fading.
Youth takes over.
Some day youth becomes old and will die.
Shadows of meaning. Fading.
My children at the reigns?
Until their death. Or who?
The reigns of what?
Nothing changes.
(Hang on it gets better.)
Oh, yes, shadows of meaning.
The world spins and the earth quakes,
The storms come and go.
The sun rises and the sun falls and
Indeed, The sun sees all,
From his lofty old place,
That lofty old sun,
Yet . . . men's dreams of conquest fall
Governments put in to play great plans
For mankind and personal gain.
New governments are also gone
Soon into shadows of meaning,
Yes, shadows-of-meaning fading.
Nothing new, nothing, nothing, nothing,
Everything's been tried, and still someone says . . .
Look at this new thing! Yet that too will fade.
All the waters rush to join the sea,
The winds rush to their destiny.
The sea sucks up the water and spits it to the sky,
With the winds help, comes round full circle,
Rains fall, and water rushes in rivers to the sea.
Work, work, work,
Is the eye, never satisfied with the view?
Is the ear never satisfied with the sounds?
Nothing new, nothing, nothing, nothing,
Everything's still been tried, and some new man says . . .
Look at this new thing! Yet that too will fade.
Shadows of meaning.
All the great things and small,
That happened years ago,
All the great people and humble,
That lived years ago,
None are remembered now.
Even those born tomorrow,
Both ideas, and people of greatness.
All the meaningful things.
Will be shadows of meaning.
Nothing remembered.
The "teacher", let's face it, King of all,
He was a learner, a good thing.
He was a wise man, a good thing.
He was a man who tried to figure out
The mysteries and happenings
Of this world under heaven.
He saw much.
And all of it,
Shadows of meaning, illusion.
Like trying to catch the wind,
Finding meaning in this life.
Futile attempts were made,
To sort it all out.
But, if it was twisted, it stayed twisted,
If it was only a dream,
It could never be counted on at all.
He said to himself (the king),
I have gotten wise and sure,
More than any King before me,
My experiences are vast,
Especially in wisdom and knowledge,
Yet also in madness, and even just outright fun craziness,
Trying to find meaning,
I learned that I would sooner catch the wind,
Than figure out even the simplest thing.
Wisdom brought me down, I crashed and burned.
Knowledge brought me trouble, and further down.
Published on August 18, 2010 08:23
date
newest »

From a Krabbe Desk
A thought, now and then, this "blog," and it is more a matter of filtering than writing. It is that scavenging through the thoughts to find one or two that transcend from an inner reality to a deciphe
A thought, now and then, this "blog," and it is more a matter of filtering than writing. It is that scavenging through the thoughts to find one or two that transcend from an inner reality to a decipherable external one, takes a special kind of energy. An energy I am some days out of.
Writing, for me, is always just that. At the outset of each day, I spend a certain amount of time firing up the head, and sorting through what comes. In this process I have kept journal pages since I was seven years old. Hundreds of thousands of pages, and most of them, written before the word blog was anything more than a misspelling. So here I will do my meandering and here I will keep my journal from this day forward (until I stop). ...more
Writing, for me, is always just that. At the outset of each day, I spend a certain amount of time firing up the head, and sorting through what comes. In this process I have kept journal pages since I was seven years old. Hundreds of thousands of pages, and most of them, written before the word blog was anything more than a misspelling. So here I will do my meandering and here I will keep my journal from this day forward (until I stop). ...more
- Rob Krabbe's profile
- 29 followers

When I have finished writing the entire bible in poetry, I will publish a printed version, but until then these blogs will continue for free for any who care to read them.