Maurice Muscadine

This world is not for me.
Society and all of its greed
And pride and fears and lies,
But I see — the Fields of green.

I see the forest beyond culture’s smog.
I see rivers and meadows and in them I see God,
Not society’s idols corrupting my mind,
But beauty in nature, for people I have no time

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Come nigh my friends
And sound your barbaric yawp!
This world is ripe for the taking

Speak light and gay
There’s no time for mourning
Or depressed poems in the making

Heavy hearts find comfort in verse
Relying on strife for the feel to fit
But strive for the beauty out there in the world
And let your words dare to reflect it

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I am happy — I am free
I am unlatched from society
I know not the wanton way
Nor the guile and greed of money

I use paper and coin
To bring happiness to my brothers
Not to build my own fortress
And recluse from all others

Money in good hands
Brings joy to the poor
A rich man with no sense of the world
Only ever desires more

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I saw a goose alone in a pond;
The morning fog settled ‘round him
One more night survived on his own
The promise of dawn ever so dim

A lame wing was his wicked ailment;
Forever stuck in this place
Unable to fly with the flock he so loved,
But a different story told on his face

A stern embrace of his abnormality
Gave him the look of a royal Swan
Not fearing the lonely life of an outcast,
But sanguine with each new dawn

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To what end, then, will this duty be done?
The passion and skill of a tireless free will
Answers daily duties from dusk until dawn

Wandering freely, the soul cries for life
Oh the conflicting spare moments resisting
The insatiable urge for waning and wine

To the revolution, I say “Fare the well”
For I, an unbiased soldier,
Could not give a brood such as this any food
Or fodder to feed or console her

I’ll accept the fate of a life out-of-reach,
Never to find or accrue
Neither faith nor fame nor money, but pain;
For all I desire is truth

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Never did “could’ve been” forgive what we forgot
Our indifference to ignorance left innocence to rot
We’ll wonder where the time has gone and what our time has brought
And why we let the good times go — we simply just forgot

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Clinging to the threads of the pale morning light
The afternoon Sun buries me
And destroys the façade of my dream

Retreating, I fled to my veil ‘til the night
As a respite from what I might see
That the mid-day is real as can be

If I should return from the dark, and I might,
Then may twilight paint an early night’s sheen
From above and below and between

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Maurice Muscadine

Maurice Muscadine

Calling all songbirds for an Appalachian folk revival.