Sunday 10 November 2019

Sycamore Wings

Shake me empty
the bowels overflow
 a river of tears,
rage pushed in a vortex.
I long to be free.
Shake me still,
then let me be,
blinding words infested wounds,
navigate my head
piercing blue light
inhale exhale a smile
rage swimming forth
breathing hard
out of breath
echoing void


Jekyll hydes waiting for the kill
looking through the glass pane
nobody knows he is there
just an angel with a spear
open arms smiling clear

but the see-through rage cannot cover up
the smears
of the authorities
the ondulating fence
of barbed wire,
of splintered wood,
of mossy insignificance
longing for respite
pierce the fear,
 it's empty, you see

Perch on that perfect sycamore seed,
grip the fragile blades,
ignore the greed
tumble dizzily
safe landing mission completed

wait for new buds to sprout,
bring out the talking cricket
and the rhino
the roots hold down and push
OUT
this magical being
levitating
and the air still stinks


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