It’s another morning of cold dry sweat
Running the brow by the northern crest
Of the hill I never quite got to know.
There is a message somewhere,
Hidden amongst the bushes sprung –
Like toddlers learning to totter
Along the edge
Under watchful eyes,
Ever-present arms ready to protect
From the scorching poison brown.
I searched for it again today,
As I tossed and turned –
Blood coursing through my mind,
Cutting a broad swathe across the battlements
Recent sieges have run aground.
The happiness of yesteryears,
Wrapped neat with pretty ribbons blue
(The colour of the cloudless sky),
Search for a corner of my attic
To make its own,
Awaiting the dust that awaits us all
The other side of this channel,
Across the hill I never quite got to know –
A source of wonderment,
Or fear, or hope,
Or something else undefined:
Unclear, imprecise in its promised magnificence…
I scatter in the breeze.
Close. So close.
* * *