By Mark Head.
So leave behind the memories of laissez allez affairs
Interspaced by intervals the fare of self so snark
And feet think hard when kicking stones on the pathways of some park.
Some poised there the clinched melange under the evergreens
Some felt the laying on of hands, touched green stains on blue jeans
Moist eyes so full of promises, the sparkling shafts’ sharp scent
Reflected by an ancient shield for the self is there the bent.
Will you stay young
Will I grow cold
Will you be crippled hence
The parlour’s burden
The fees now passion’s spent?
Will you berate
Will I believe
Whose sickness sucks whom dry?
But there’s nothing to be answered for
For all the knowing is to try and trying never done.
To fight so hard to many ears and the lane ways echoed long
From the sound of frequent sobbings to the loving all night song
But the silence echoes undertones
For will I will you
The sacrament of snow white flake and the garland flung to view.
That moment of eternity
Time so swollen tight
The scrunch of lightning headedness to see life in new light;
Primeval vision late at night in growing forms dim seen that jibe the nightmares neighing chilly from the pitch high living scream
So do we dare, dare, do dare
The aisleway swaying rite
Now the mind has seen the other side
The clues in facial rune
That hide design of Nero and the sighs of weeping Christ.
There’s nothing now and nothing new
It seems just too obscure so hardy say
For the problems Jude and Judas
Side by side who lay
Sunk under times’ last night
There fresh unburied
Still lie in state today.