simonhlilly

FAINT BREEZES

Faint eternal breezes between stars

Where the gods have walked.

.

The door-hinge between worlds screams

And time is changed. Your names are of no value here,

Nor your skills.

.

Your future has been stolen

Because the past was not understood.

.

All roads dissolve at the misty edges.

This forest is your accuser.

This forest is your river.

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The dance between two and three,

The vanishing one eclipsed.

Umbra, penumbra, chorus, echo.

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The table of utter silence.

The taste of grey iron chain,

Grey as morning, neither this nor that.

.

Four stories long the seamstress works,

Head bowed in patterns, the needles

Darting in and out.

.

Blake and Burne-Jones naked on the shore,

Collecting the teeth of dragons,

Barefoot in embers and sea wrack.

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The sky boat reflected in the moving waters,

The stallions hobbled, too wild, even, for war.

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It is the gentle who are moulded

For vengeance and bleak reply.

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And still the future is mute but growing.

It will be bright with accident,

Possessed with skills of no use whatsoever –

The arts of distraction and decay,

The sowing of grief and duty.

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Do not look for any meaning in the words ( they say)

The key is not the door.

There is no lie in winter.

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