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I had a thought the other day
But it was something I did not say
What if the sky were only gray?
Would it be OK?
No glow from sun's warm ray
Would touch our face in May
No shooting stars in black night's play
No setting sun towards west way
No blue above some Bahaman Cay
Or sunrise gold in distant bays
What is that you say?
The sun came out...Hurray!
I used to be a hippo, with two earlobes and a chin.
Bothered by a fruit flea, who'd always claimed he couldn't swim.
My eyes they weren't so perfect, so it was too late when I did see.
The massive herd of cantaloupe quickly bearing down on thee.
A melon hit your melon and you fell upon the floor
and I shared your dream, I dream I'd seemed, to have dreamed a time before.
The fog slowly cleared, and now we found a family surrounded we.
Two parents, two sisters, two brothers, and strangely; there was that same old flea.
The family tree extended, a multitude of friends, Staying somewhat
close, but not the same, as it had been way back then.
The tree went in all directions, even backwards deep in time.
And the branches reached out for the stars and spread out ever wide.
I wiggled my ear to tackle a tickle and a horror began to unfold.
In slow motion I watched that sad flea drop into my hippo water bowl.
It happened so fast, I couldn't react, I had no thumbs- was my excuse.
The flea fell fast and hit the water like a runaway train caboose.
And through your dream I heard your scream match the scream from my own mouth,
The flea stared pleadingly into my eye as he slowly started to sink south.
Then I heard a pop, a long slow hiss and saw a bright flash of rubber yellow
And the flea bobbed up with a life vest on, that sneaky little fellow.
So what's the point of this poem you ask sharply, and I do not reply.
But I'm thinking of you and I shared my story, now it's time to say Goodbye.
Pervades from all perspectives
Penetrates all shadows
Perpetuates for all time
Perceives no darkness
Personifies all color
And the age-old tune plays all around
All living things do make their sound.
Though we be on a slippery slope
Even so we play our slippery note.
We can choose the instrument we play.
Tomorrow reverberates notes of today.
Others must not drown out our grace.
Make some space to find our place.
All that we need is all around us.
The age-old tune still surrounds us.
Listen to them,
far away behind us,
they know us completely,
but we have forgotten,
or choose not to remember
It wasn't that long ago,
they were here,
and we were not,
worrying about tomorrow,
happy or in
but now we have arrived
and they departed from
here and now
So many were children once
but are now dust, not even remembered.
Live now, for our time is nearly gone.
There is a place we never go
except our loneliest times
a place that is colored black
or darkest grey
if we could see it with our eyes
but it lives and dies in our heart
deep down where we never want to go
and it draws us back;
regret, mistakes, hurt and pain
to guide us like a pure black beacon
away from itself, yet we still want to return
Where would I be without friends?
Would my world just end?
Who would I talk to at night?
How would I know everythingís alright?
My friend, my sister, and my consular too
I would be lost if you were not here
There would be nothing to do
With no one to comment on my dirty blonde hair
Your there when I need to talk
Your there when I need a friend
Youíll be there forever
Till the very, very end
I hope we grow old together
Without so much as a fight
You Liz and me Heather
But donít let the elephants bite
Being mean is our thing
Like at the mall that one great day
We must have scared those boys
But it was quite fun, Ill say
Donít go snapping legs off people
Well at least let me help
They might get mad and angry
But its fun to hear them yelp
Stop showing off your butt
And the baby elephant wont meet the wall
We have to cut off your legs!
So youíre not so tall
Little tiny strings,
vibrating oh so fast,
make up all things
from the first to the last.
Strings are the answer,
At least thats what they say.
They make up a dancer,
and the month of may.
So believe in the theory,
if you wish to be saved.
for it makes me so weary,
to dig my own grave.
Strings are a fools game,
This is the truth I know,
For I will gane no fame,
But encounter a few low blows.
Believe what you might,
Believe what you will,
The only one that is right,
Is the one that fills the till.
For if you question the asnwer,
Then how do you answer the question,
Life can be a cancer,
Do to lack of concentration.
The answer lies in front of you,
Much closer than your nose,
To see it you must be of the chosen 2,
which number, grows and grows.
Understand this and you are one,
But think you understand it and you are done.
And always remember, fun is number one!
Sharing hatred with sarcasm through despair
Injects fear, sadness, and suffering pathogens.
Ignorant hatred with despair is imprisonment.
Sharing hope with gratitude through service
Injects courage, joy, and love antibodies.
Disciplined service with hope is freedom.
Be careful who you chase
For they will chase you.
When you look into the abyss
The abyss looks back at you.
Evil always turns
back upon itself.
When I see you see me
What do I see you see?
... Tom is not beyond and unconcerned anomalously, but rather is located at the core of morality as it existed in Middle-earth, as the ultimate exemplification of the proper moral stance toward power, pride, and possession. In fact, in terms of the moral traits that most fascinated Tolkien both as an author and as a scholar, Tom Bombadil is Tolkien's moral ideal.
While Ulmo may have had free will as he sang his part of the song in those distant times, he is now bound by what he sang and cannot go beyond or change his part. If Tom is Aule, then he too is bound by his part in the song and although sympathetic and concerned, he can only help the Hobbits and the Free Peoples of the West in little ways. -- from An Essay by Gene Hargrove