Blowing in the wind.

Amidst the howl of Hector’s blow

I ponder on the life I know

Of blue, blue eyes, I think the while

I’m lost in dreams of gentle smile.

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The Hangman.

The Hangman

 

There were screamers who were dreaming

There were watchers standing by

While a woman lay heartbroken

With a teardrop in her eye

There were children with no shoes on

They were waifs and they were strays

And young men watched the years go by

While old men counted days.

There were clowns and there were vagabonds

A hangman dressed in black

There were many going forward

But none did they come back

There was one stood in the midst of things

Who held within his hand

A trickle of the finest grains

Of gently woven sand

And as the trickle left his palm

And fell in silent flow

Each grain of sand became a dream

Into the book to go

In ornate script from flowing pen

From nib to book they flew

To wait upon the golden glow

That comes from love so true

 

The hangman looked around him

Red eyes ‘neath hooded frown

In long black cloak and high black hat

His glance was always down

With meticulous attention

He guessed at weight and height

Assessed them for their neck size

Then sat back down to wait

He knew all men to be guilty

And thirteen women too

It was just a question of degree

Hanging me or hanging you

 

The vagabond was homeless

Dressed in tattered rags

His world was carried with him

In worn out shopping bags

He slithered through the milling crowd

Looked for half a chance

His fingers sliding everywhere

In a thieving mystic dance

In and out of pockets

For silk or coin of gold

For silver pin or pocket watch

Aught that it could be sold

The only one to notice

Was the hangman with a grin

Who marked his soul with a cross of red

And wrote his name therein

 

The waifs and strays were orphans

Abandoned and forlorn

They would sell their soul for thirty pence

Or rags that folk have worn

Standing there with hands out cupped

They were rudely pushed aside

No-one knew the pain they’d felt

Or the rivers of tears they’d cried

The pretty ones were wanted

The rest? Well who would know

The hangman grinned, with toothless smile

Into his book they’d go

In grubby rags and skinny limbs

With hope gone from their life

Their so young eyes had seen too much

Of sadness, tears and strife

In huddled groups they waited

Not knowing from where they stand

That the only thing that awaited them

Was the hangman’s outstretched hand

 

 

The clowns they did their juggling

In this carnival of grief

And watched the fall of mankind

Like the falling autumn leaf

The hangman looked around him

Well satisfied it seems

To put an end to life itself

And to kill all hopes and dreams

And when the day it ended

And I sadly look around

The only thing I see that’s left

Is the book laid on the ground.

 

Ten years.

I didn’t quite make it to ten years

But the ten years nearly made it to me

I didn’t quite make those ten years

But in the last month the pain was for free

The ten years were simply the sweetest

I lived my life in a trance

You gave me the world in a rainbow

And you showed me that life was to dance

I didn’t quite make it to ten years

I lost the end in regret

But the sweetest years, they were your years

And my thanks are to God that we met.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dylan sings Sarah

Dylan was singing Sarah

From somewhere deep in my fate

The words didn’t quite do her justice

But they showed it was never too late

It was dark and still in the Cavern

When my Mother whispered to me

And Dylan was still singing Sarah

To the seeds of whatever will be

Who knows if fate will endeavour

To weave our paths into one

And will Dylan still sing to Sarah

When the memories of the Cavern have gone

How brave is the bravest of brave hearts

Will your hand reach out to seek

Dare you see what fate is a-weaving

Or are your vision and your daring too weak

As the smoke clears out from illusion

And your beauty paints a stain on my eyes

Dylan is still singing Sarah

And Lennox is asking me Why.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It doesn’t get easier, it gets softer.

Will you drift on the breeze

As it slips through the trees

Till you rest in the arms of another

Will you re-call the time

When your hand laid in mine

When all we did need, was each other

As the years pass us by

With hardly a sigh

Will we grieve for the times that we lost

Will we sit in our Fall

And remember it all

And wonder how much that it cost.