Cold

In the collected fleece Soft white dappled against a crisp blue sky Morning broke to its light of passion As the phantom shades Bowed their acquiescence To the brush works of beauty All came to nothing Rolled beneath the rubber Black the highway snake, a river Coughed upon the throat of petrol And lay smug polished paint Greedy against the landscape Yet still the hands of trees Wave their benedictions in a billion leaves To grant the silent heirs of peace Some moment to ponder on their breath She spoke of love Still speaking though through confounded veils And he impeached By the quality of cloth Knows not the words Where love should walk And so never the both, to tread its path It is the playing cards of concrete then To listen to, and reek revenge And gnaw within a bone-ed soul Bright illusion And ever delusion In knowing thought Eat the ghosts Of those dreams who knew us not But bastions beckoned to the slaving sands Each carcinogenic drop Lays waste to all the love once felt inside life’s heart And so it is in glass and steel The sunrise fallen A mere decoration To the passing of this days generation While all the phantoms of our dreams Are gathered to the market place Baubles of meaningless intention Designed to trap and enthrall In the place where all our dreams are sold In a vision, so swift onto the wing Rides the swan from sleeping lake Washed in sunset, shade from the mountains break To fill a sky with eternal stars And wish no tears to fall Upon any human face And whisper their reminder Of beauties cavalcade Behind the darkness this battalion moves Ever a new armoury In the flames of suffering wrought Ever the twisted history Schemed to provide in death dealings Only to capture the image of hate And sell it to the world And in truth The sweetness of every saviour Every living, breathing messiah Who spoke of love Turn now those words impetuous And nothing between, nothing exists between The tarmac and rubber Under the black snake river Coughed in a throat of bitterness Every second of our forgetfulness And though rested upon creations throne Fall to petty possessions In the madness they have bequeathed And fight for what little you own There beneath the boot Of bloodline and deception Beneath the gold trinkets of religion Let the words of the prophet be known They will reap in death, horror and hell All ! that they have sown