Time, the slow setting cement
With a little give and take
Calcifies then
Locks round the ankles
Pinning us to the spot
Like a dead moth
In the collector's case.

Religions too
All fresh and wriggly when new
Set slowly like jelly in a mold
Generation to generation
Then stop because they're old
And can strangle the believers.

Believe it or burn
Some Religions say
A little crucifixion, a rack or two
Burning alive will be good for you
Eternally or so they say
And we'll believe anything.
We're like that.
Fairies at the bottom of the garden
Demon spirits, reincarnation.
Give me a buck or two
I'll write a religion just for you.

Time just moves on
Leaving the feet
Solidifying slowly.
We're happy because we made up our mind
A little.

But Love is the only bird that still flies free
Dreaming and scheming reproductively
A temporary escape hatch, a parachute
Ready to begin again
With a fresh slate
All pink and new
Eyes screwed tight shut
To keep out the terror
Of the landing.

Love, my friend,
Is the only bird that's flying free
The living soul of you and me.