You lashed and you slashed, with your evil in words
And you cut my soul till it bled
Your barbarous tongue and poisonous screams
Left me balanced on the edge of the dead
The cinders and ashes of the flames that had burned
When passions blazed high, but now spent
And I turn my thoughts from there and to here
To these desolation days of repent.
On the high road to Persepolis
Beneath a blood red sky
My hands deep in my pockets
And Angels rushing by
I knew that I was dreaming
Yet, I couldn’t help but scream
YOU were not beside me
And I was trapped inside the dream.
Sleep sweetly my Princess
I will stroke soft your hair
I will brush out your worries
And comb out your cares
Sleep sweetly my pretty
And sleep out your pain
I will sing you a love song
Then I will sing it again.
I sat in the shadow of a palm tree
The edges of it’s shadow hardly fluttered
No breeze today
A locust sat in the sand at my feet
I looked at it
It didn’t look back
It was busy doing locust things I guess
A black goat came lolloping along
It came from somewhere behind me.
It seemed to be shaking it’s head and shuffling it’s feet
Reminded me of an old song by Manfred Man.
The goat was heading for the locust.
This will end in tears, I thought.
The goat stopped, directly in front of the locust
It’s nose a fraction of an inch from the locusts eyes.
Shaggy black goat and long green locust
Staring at each other
Some sort of Mexican stand off
I thought that maybe the goat was considering eating the locust
And I think the locust was thinking locust thoughts
Maybe wondering where the rest of the plague were when you needed them.
After a while the goat tired of the game
Shaking his head and shuffling his feet, he sauntered off.
Maybe he said goodbye as he left, but if he did, I didn’t hear it.
The locust stayed where it was.
It’s eyes seemed to be fixed on the desert.
A hot date?
The locust second coming?
I guess I would never know.
Away to the left stood a wall
A white wall
In full sun.
The whiteness dazzled.
Against the base of the wall, there grew a bougainvillea
It’s gnarled and twisted trunk grew from the dry, parched soil.
The trunk looked dead
It gave way to a dense, green, foliage
That sprawled heavily against and on top of the white wall
And within and without of the green cloud of foliage
Masses of blood red flowers hung
Scarlet against green
Green against dazzling white
Startling visual contrasts.
As I looked, a single blossom
Fell gently from a branch within the bush
Swayed as it fell
Like a butterfly dancing.
It came to rest in the sand.
Scarlet on ochre.
The locust didn’t seem to notice
Still lost in locust thoughts.
Maybe it was a locust lama, meditating.
The fallen blossom stirred
Tugged at by the gentle breeze that barely existed
On a still day like today
The blossom rolled slowly
A tiny splash of colour in a world of ochre.
It settled for a moment
In a hoof print left by a shaggy black goat
But not satisfied
It let itself be lifted free
Guided by unseen forces
It began it’s journey
I watched it.
Sometimes it was carried, sometimes it lingered
Then it would dance in circles for a while
Almost out of sight
Almost out of mind
The blossom and I had crossed paths
And now our journeys continued
I watched as it became a speck in the desert
It was already dying
Soon it would be trapped
It’s colour would fade
The petals, now silk, would dry and crumble
Turn to dust.
Mother Nature will welcome her child home.
And somewhere on the bougainvillea
A new bud will open it’s eyes
Watching the blossom set out on it’s journey
Had reminded me
Of a time a while ago.
I had been alone
Walking on a beach
The sounds of the sea, cleansing my mind
I found myself thinking
About Heaven and Hell
Idly posing the questions to myself
I recalled reading somewhere
That every human at the exact moment that death occurs
Loses 21 grams from their body weight.
Never 20, nor 22 or 23.
This was always supposed as proof of the existence of the soul
And that it weighed 21 grams
I have no idea
But the thought appeals to some inner belief
That I harbour.
I said goodbye to the locust and left.
If the locust said goodbye to me, I didn’t hear.
It’s easy to think you are drowning
When you simply forget how to swim
It’s hard to see in the distance
When the street lights constantly dim
When the smells and the touches desert you
It doesn’t always mean you are dead
It’s not always that straight is straight forward
Or that red lights are always on red
There is time to take stock and look backwards
Time to light candles for their glow
There are times to go softly and go gently
And times to go quickly and slow.
It matters not what others think
Nor what they think they know
The thoughts that dance within your mind
Are the seeds of life you sow.