Delicate

When darkness shrouds, my love stands proud,
Although distant pale light descends from above
It stands still as though afraid to move,
Though it makes no sound, but it helps me calm.
Then the waking tide n’ the empty farm stall
I wait for thee to return to my warmth.
The touch, your hand, to replenish my soul
I wait, and drift away my thoughts, for
Tomorrow we will go to the place of our birth.

The light it brings such low, bright light,
A winter’s chill on the snowflake glass
The mellow mooing of the waking calves
Their breathe so vivid, with acrid hay
Wipe away the sandman’s sleep, dissolve away my dreams
For today we encounter the rivers and the streams,
Their days of longing will soon return,
By and large their hopes will be cast,
To hear and understand their plight,
With courage they may survive the night

Onward and searching, blind lead the blind,
Ostensibly realising the lesson of trust,
Naked and restless, arms outstretched,
Touching and stroking her slender sublime,
Rendering time like a slow motion mime,
Don’t harsh me you infidel, you heathen abound,
Wait by the arches, there’s something I’ve found
Alas! Comes the cry of the last troubadour…..SILENCE!

“I pronounce he who hath laid his sword in the arena tonight
shall be worthy for a place at the Kings Table, so long as he is victorious!!!”

So the chivalry commenced and all but the dense,
Were driven so violently to display,
To abolish their fear and exacerbate their size, make themselves warriors in glory
With their glory a joke, and the haze of my smoke,
The curse came and took it upon me…
No! Something’s not right, This game was not friendly,
So I searched high and low, and thought that that’s got to go,
But my friend, my only friends had left me,
so lonely, as I found him cold and dead in my arms.

Iain Cockhill 4/12/07