A lullaby
Incandescent were the trees, Severed from their roots, their bark and leaves Strewn out across the earth like blood.
“Oh brutal wind, unremitting and remorseless, Your invisible claws do like trebuchets and gauntlets Break down the walls of the living.”
“How can we reconcile, as silent ponderers, The caustic and vile power which does descend upon us? It shows neither reason nor rhyme”!
But it was so very ironic, That those trees, old, wise, and thus not oft laconic, Could not see life sparkle in their loss. Indeed, as those trees did become ashes again, Mushrooms and rabbits did find sanctuary within.
New Form
Separated at birth, set him down and watch him speak to the world as if the world might answer; His thoughts that wrap their long claws around him like thunder; And evenlop his senses and his form like smoke rising from asunder.
Come are the days of the mind. Restless. Searching. For the peace that came before. Unaware of the peace that comes after. Rejecting the chaos that swirls and sways in the halls of the living.
A moment away from the divine. Separation anxiety. No longer held, but under the gaze. A simulation? A test? A New Form.
Sands of time
I live above a heartbeat, hear’on the earthly plain, With love separating the boundaries, between nirvana and shame, Its wings lift me higher, away from that which holds, No conscience and no question, a river of thoughtless cold.
Now despite that thudding drumbeat, my wants go on and on, A shimmer of ancient melodies, a species experienced through song, And though I may be listless, ensnared above its staves, There is jubilation in direction, and Florence yet a whisker away.
Magic
Entwined with the divine of an earthly design, A species, a planet, masquerading a crime, Shape-shifting, hair-lifting, it’s one-of-a-kind, This thing we call magic that’s really just time.
Freedom the shapeshifter
When I was a child, freedom had warm skin. The liberty to sleep in the same bed as other heartbeats. The adventure of pitching a tent in the middle of a dinner party, without prevention. Freedom was closeness. Freedom was acceptance.
When I was a boy, freedom held my hand - looser now, as we walked to the Heath. She whispered: “stay out late with your friends”. Freedom was an accompaniment. Freedom was trust.
When I was a teenager, freedom had a Cheshire cat’s grin. She got me lost in foreign countries. She led me over hedges and through brambles into parties I wasn’t invited to. Freedom was distance. Freedom was rebellion.
When I was in my twenties, freedom was a wise mentor. She had me pacing institutional halls. She asked me to reach out for other’s hands. She showed me my mind - darkness, light. Freedom was experience. Freedom was complexity.
Now in my thirties, freedom is death - of the paths I didn’t take. She has me planning. She has me investing: in body, in love, in that which is material. She holds me responsible, for many things beyond me. Freedom is the future. Freedom is duty.
I still live in freedom’s presence. I wonder what shape she’ll take next.