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.
.
The dance between two and three,
The vanishing one eclipsed.
Umbra, penumbra, chorus, echo.
.
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.
.
The sky boat reflected in the moving waters,
The stallions hobbled, too wild, even, for war.
.
It is the gentle who are moulded
For vengeance and bleak reply.
.
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.
.
Do not look for any meaning in the words ( they say)
The key is not the door.
There is no lie in winter.
—
simonhlilly 