And when laughter appears
And no smile or sneering rears
Where are you?
What have you put yourself through?
Sometimes it’s too far. Sometimes it’s a game, a chessboard of truth. Do you hear the whisper? Do you hear the call? You know you should follow it. But you turn a blind eye, only to see clearly the mould of the situation you cried yourself in. The trees, they speak and call you into intuition, the river so tempting when the boards of the houses appear.
Ah, it’s the people, it’s the people. Can you smell the air? No sense at all. Are they crazy or do they just realise what’s really going on and going down?
The lake of fire, what a blast they cry upon the moonlight, the energy, the furore of excellence that brings the devious souls together, the misunderstood, the ones to breach their compliance, not to be contended with the wolves who no longer bark their territory. But there are sparks of sorrow, for they know what man must never, or would never, have known. The man in the hooded coat smiles and gleams his way through the common people. But what is the common notion that brings us to say what we have to say? The language of the tongue, the bite of the last summer to have endured. The spring that rears its ugly hat of the last season, where many perish only to live again through the birds and the bees and the summer breeze that comes, but doesn’t say anything. Don’t be afraid of the cold, for it is needed. Stay in and hibernate like the man in the trees or yonder wounded moon.
Ah the graveyards, you sit and realise, the graves are the cinema to the skies. They watch you from afar or even close, but the closer you get the more they disappear, the sisters and brothers who once walked this land, just like you and me. The medieval corruption of the grass, the latent nature that sits with its merry old tune, sings once more. It may be small for you, but it’s big for me.
Rose Lantern likes to see beyond the stars
Aloka 