One
Patrick Cannell © 1990
The truth is one but hard to see
And clouded in obscurity
And those who seek to pierce the mist
Shoot arrows straightened by God's fist.
A single cube whose sides are six
Is turning on its own axis.
Appearing differently with time,
Its unity is undermined.
The zealots' haste that leads to woes
Compels them all to break their bows
And sing along in unison,
Delighted that they now are one.
The winds of truth assault the land,
A granite fortress turns to sand.
The members of a vain elect,
Though unified, are incorrect.
The Hermit
Patrick Cannell © 1990
Only I can give the answer to the question on your lips.
Only I can judge the measure by which providence acquits.
Only you can peer through the haze for to find the truth of all.
Only you can tend the garden within love's protective wall.
Only I can reach the hermit in the wasteland of his mind.
Only I can take the fortress by a lesser will designed.
To the light at the end of the road he would gladly walk alone.
Armed with nothing is the hermit, foiled by a mystic ode.
Only I can chant the number, such is not reserved for you.
Only I can sing the structure. Though alone I am yet two.
To the light at the end of the road he would gladly walk alone.
Armed with nothing is the hermit, foiled by a mystic ode.
Foiled by a mystic ode.
Foiled by a misty code.