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Play ground kids - the rusty swing creaks
It tells a foreboding – they look
The answers are hovering like dragonflies
Magically in the air - majestic moments
Waiting – to be rediscovered.
Each fresh eye scents this moment
And can only ever really know
Each want of a sevenfold charm
Herded in the heart of the child
The horsedream is their mode that-
Gallop’s across the beach and along
Those separate lands. The one
Never to be revisited
Yet only know in minds air
The lure of graveyards, curses, eternity
Makes the pure day real -
The strange visitor about-to-turn-upon
And the other road is never travelled
Nor ever will be relayed nowhere.
Through the myth and the poems charm
Here lays the day.
The wooden table is there like a monument
It is perceived from all in their own avenue
Through their own road to their own truths
As they (now aged) remember the days
Before the beech and then the tidal life
They will all be drowned and washed upon
As their truths are relinquished back to the air.
copyright 2014
Jonathan
Beale |
